LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


"O"R  COT   V7AS    IN  A -FOREST   GLADE 


N    E  XV -Y  O  R    K 


11  ©4i 


POEMS, 


BY 


FRANCES    S.  OSGOOD 


A  careless  carol— idly,  lightly  sung, 
Perhaps  not  worth  the  singing  or  repeating  ;— 

But  would  you  check  a  woman's  pen  or  tongue?— 
Ah !  teach  her  first— to  keep  her  heart  from  beating ! 


NEW  YORK: 
PUBLISHED  BY  CLARK  &  AUSTIN, 

M  DCCC  XLVI. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1845, 

Bv  CLARK  &  AUSTIN. 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District 
of  New  York. 


TO  HER  BEST  FRIEND, 
Stye  foUotoftifl  $ajjes 

ARE  AFFECTIONATELY  AND  GRATEFULLY  INSCRIBED 
BY 

THE  AUTHOR. 


PREFACE. 


THE  Author's  chief  fear,  in  collecting  and 
publishing  the  following  Poems,  is  that  they 
may  not  be  thought  worthy  the  notice  of 
that  just  and  true  criticism,  whose  praise 
and  blame  are  alike  valuable,  and  would  by 
her  be  equally  welcomed  and  appreciated. 


CONTENTS 


Page. 

THE  SPIRIT  or  POETRY 13 

THE  LUTIN-STEED 16 

LOVE'S  REPLY 20 

THE  FAN 22 

To  SYBIL 29 

A  FLIGHT  OF  FANCY 34 

THE  HEART'S  ANSWER 39 

LOVE'S  MISTAKE 40 

To  A  DEAR  LITTLE  TRUANT 41 

LULU 43 

A   REPLY   TO    ONE    WHO    SAID,    "WRITE    FROM   YOUR 

HEART"  46 

To  MY  MOTHER 47 

THE  BROKEN  LYRE 49 

GOLDEN  RULES  IN  RHYME 50 

A  SONG 58 


8  CONTENTS. 


Page. 

THE  SPIRIT'S  VOYAGE 60 

A  REMONSTRANCE «  64 

"Bois  TON  SANG, BEAUMANOIR" 66 

THE  LILY'S  DELUSION 67 

THE  FETTER  'NEATH  THE  FLOWERS 68 

To 69 

To  SARAH,  ARRANGING  HER  HAIR 71 

VENUS  AND  THE  MODERN  BELLE 72 

THE  FLOWER  AND  BROOK 75 

THE  STAR  AND  THE  FLOWER,  OR  THE  Two  PETS 77 

To  A  FRIEND 79 

A  TRIBUTE  OF  GRATITUDE 81 

GARDEN  GOSSIP 83 

DOUBTFUL  Vows 85 

EARL  ALBERT'S  BIRD 87 

THE  TALISMAN 89 

"  LOVE  WILL  NOT  STAY  TO  BE  WEIGHED" 94 

ELLEN  ARDELLE 95 

ZULEIKA 97 

LOVE  AND  LOGIC 99 

To  LITTLE  MAY  VINCENT 101 

A  SONG 103 

"  SHE  LOVES  HIM  YET" 105 


CONTENTS.  9 


Page. 
THE  LILY'S  REPLY 107 

"HAPPY  AT  HOME" 108 

HAPPINESS  LOST  AND  FOUND Ill 

KEEP,  KEEP  THE  MAIDEN'S  DOWRY 115 

THE  LANGUAGE  or  GEMS 117 

THE  LOVER'S  LIST 123 

THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  CALLITRICHE,  OR  WATER-STAR  —  125 

A  MAY-DAY  SONO 129 

THE  PARTING 130 

ASPIRATIONS 131 

A  SONG 133 

THE  "FAIRER  FLOWER" 134 

LENORE 136 

THE  SOUL'S  LAMENT  FOR  HOME 137 

THE  FLOWER  AND  THE  HUMMING-BIRD 138 

THE  SUITOR'S  REPLY  TO  THE  MAIDEN  WHO  WISHED  TO 

RETURN  HIS  GlFT 140 

To 141 

HYMN 142 

To 144 

THE  WORLD-WORN  LYRE 145 

A  SONG 147 

THE  EXILE'S  LAMENT 149 


10  CONTENTS. 


Page. 

LEONOR 151 

To  LIZZIE 153 

VICTORIA,  ON  HER  WAY  TO  GUILDHALL 155 

NONE  ARE  POOR 157 

FAZRY 159 

MAY-DAY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND 160 

VIRGINIA 164 

To  ANNA 167 

WHAT  I  LOVE 168 

ON  A  LANDSCAPE  BY  DOUGHTY 170 

YOUR  HEART  is  A  Music-Box,  DEAREST 173 

THE  CHERUB'S  SECRET 174 

HYMN  TO  THE  VIRGIN 175 

THE  DYING  ROSE-BUD'S  LAMENT 176 

THE  UNEXPECTED  DECLARATION 178 

WHAT  CAN  BE  THE  MATTER  WITH  LIZZIE 181 

MINA  DOLCE 183 

LINES  SUGGESTED  BY  A  MOURNING-LOCKET 184 

WHY  WILL  A  ROSE-BUD  BLOW 186 

FANNY'S  ERROR 188 

NEW  ENGLAND'S  MOUNTAIN  CHILD 188 

THE  BABY  AND  THE  BREEZE 190 

LINES 191 


CONTENTS. 

THE  CHILD  PLAYING  WITH  A  WATCH 194 

WHY  DON'T  HE  COME 195 

ON  A  PICTURE 197 

ELLEN  LEARNING  TO  WALK 199 

ON  PARTING  FOR  A  TIME  WITH  AN  INFANT'S  PORTRAIT  . .  201 

LUCY'S  GEM 202 

THE  DAISY'S  MISTAKE 208 

THE  LIFE-VOYAGE 212 

THE  CHILD  AND  ITS  ANGEL-PLAYMATE 219 

A  SONG 223 

A  MOTHER'S  PRAYER  IN  ILLNESS 225 

To 227 

THE  TRIUMPH  OF  THE  SPIRITUAL  OVER  THE  SENSUAL.  • .  229 

PURITY'S  PEARL  ;  OR,  THE  HISTORY  OF  A  TEAR 234 

LINES  FROM  A  SCHOOL  GIRL  TO  A  NEW  FRIEND 238 

HEAVEN  is  OVERALL 241 

THE  MORNING  WALK,  OR  THE  STOLEN  BLUSH 244 

THE  HALF-BLOWN  ROSE 246 

THE  HOUR  BEFORE  THE  DUEL 248 

SHE  SAYS  SHE  LOVES  ME  DEARLY 250 

THE  HERO'S  GRAVE  2511 


POEMS. 


TO  THE  SPIRIT  OF  POETRY. 

LEAVE  me  not  yet !     Leave  me  not  cold  and  lonely, 

Thou  dear  Ideal  of  my  pining  heart ! 
Thou  art  the  friend — the  beautiful — the  only, 

Whom  I  would  keep,  tho'  all  the  world  depart ! 
Thou,  that  dost  veil  the  frailest  flower  with  glory, 

Spirit  of  light  and  loveliness  and  truth ! 
Thou  that  didst  tell  me  a  sweet,  fairy  story, 

Of  the  dim  future,  in  my  wistful  youth  ! 
Thou,  who  canst  weave  a  halo  round  the  spirit, 

Thro'  which  naught  mean  or  evil  dare  intrude, 
Resume  not  yet  the  gift,  which  I  inherit 

From  Heaven  and  thee,  that  dearest,  holiest  good ! 
Leave  me  not  now !    Leave  me  not  cold  and  lonely, 

Thou  starry  prophet  of  my  pining  heart ! 
Thou  art  the  friend — the  tenderest — the  only, 

With  whom,  of  all,  'twould  be  despair  to  part. 


14  TO  THE  SPIRIT  OF  POETRY. 


Thou  that  cam'st  to  me  in  my  dreaming  childhood, 

Shaping  the  changeful  clouds  to  pageants  rare, 
Peopling  the  smiling  vale,  and  shaded  wildwood, 

With  airy  beings,  faint  yet  strangely  fair  ; 
Telling  me  all  the  sea-born  breeze  was  saying, 

While  it  went  whispering  thro'  the  willing  leaves, 
Bidding  me  listen  to  the  light  rain  playing 

Its  pleasant  tune,  about  the  household  eaves  ; 
Tuning  the  low,  sweet  ripple  of  the  river, 

Till  its  melodious  murmur  seem'd  a  song, 
A  tender  and  sad  chant,  repeated  ever, 

A  sweet,  impassion'd  plaint  of  love  and  wrong ! 
Leave  me  not  yet !    Leave  me  not  cold  and  lonely, 

Thou  star  of  promise  o'er  my  clouded  path ! 
Leave  not  the  life,  that  borrows  from  thee  only 

All  of  delight  and  beauty  that  it  hath  ! 

Thou,  that  when  others  knew  not  how  to  love  me, 

Nor  cared  to  fathom  half  my  yearning  soul, 
Didst  wreathe  thy  flowers  of  light,  around,  above  me, 

To  woo  and  win  me  from  my  grief's  control. 
By  all  my  dreams,  the  passionate,  and  holy, 

When  thou  hast  sung  love's  lullaby  to  me, 
By  all  the  childlike  worship,  fond  and  lowly, 

Which  I  have  lavish'd  upon  thine  and  thee. 


TO   THE   SPIRIT  OF   POETRY.  15 

By  all  the  lays  my  simple  lute  was  learning, 

To  echo  from  thy  voice,  stay  with  me  still ! 
Once  flown — alas  !  for  thee  there's  no  returning ! 

The  charm  will  die  o'er  valley,  wood,  and  hill. 
Tell  me  not  Time,  whose  wing  my  brow  has  shaded, 

Has  wither'd    spring's  sweet    bloom  within  my 

heart, 
Ah,  no !  the  rose  of  love  is  yet  unfaded, 

Tho'  hope  and  joy,  its  sister  flowers,  depart. 

Well  do  I  know  that  I  have  wrong'd  thine  altar, 

With  the  light  offerings  of  an  idler's  mind, 
And  thus,  with  shame,  my  pleading  prayer  I  falter, 

Leave  me  not,  spirit !  deaf,  and  dumb,  and  blind  ! 
Deaf  to  the  mystic  harmony  of  nature, 

Blind  to  the  beauty  of  her  stars  and  flowers 
Leave  me  not,  heavenly  yet  human  teacher, 

Lonely  and  lost  in  this  cold  world  of  ours  ! 
Heaven  knows  I  need  thy  music  and  thy  beauty 

Still  to  beguile  me  on  my  weary  way, 
To  lighten  to  my  soul  the  cares  of  duty, 

And  bless    with   radiant    dreams   the    darken'd 

day: 
To  charm  my  wild  heart  in  the  worldly  revel, 

Lest  I,  too,  join  the  aimless,  false,  and  vain  ; 


16  THE  LUTIN-STEED. 

Let  me  not  lower  to  the  soulless  level 
Of  those  whom  now  I  pity  and  disdain ! 

Leave  me  not  yet ! — leave  me  not  cold  and  pining, 
Thou  bird  of  paradise,  whose  plumes  of  light, 

Where'er  they  rested,  left  a  glory  shining ; 
Fly  not  to  heaven,  or  let  me  share  thy  flight ! 


THE  LUTIN-STEED. 

A  FAIRY  LEGEND. 

OLD  Margaret's  wither'd  features 

Gleam  in  the  red  firelight — 
"  Now  stay  with  me,  my  grandsons  three ! 

Why  wend  ye  forth  to-night  1 

"  The  Mistral's  mighty  wing — 
Hark  !  how  it  -shakes  the  roof ! 

This  eve  the  fairy  Sabbath  is, 
And  souls  should  keep  aloof. 


THE  LUTIN-STEED.  17 

"  The  Lutins  are  abroad, 

In  thousand  forms  of  might, 
To  mock  the  feeble  faith  of  man ; — 

Ye  shall  not  forth  to-night !" 

Out  spake  the  eldest  proudly, 

And  toss'd  his  cluster'd  curls, — • 
"  I  go  to  meet  my  Jacqueline, 

My  blue-eyed  girl  of  girls !" 

Out  spake  the  second  loudly, 

"  Nor  Lutin,  elf,  or  fay, 
Shall  keep  me  from  the  beach  to-night, 

Where  foams  the  flashing  spray  !" 

"  And  thou,  my  fair-hair'd  darling  ! 

My  beautiful  and  bright ! 
Of  stories  fine,  great  store  have  I, 

Thou  wilt  not  forth  to-night !" 

"  Nay,  grandam  !"  lisp'd  the  loved  one, 

With  playful,  pleading  look, 
"  Thy  legends  keep,  till  I  come  back, 

With  blossoms  from  the  brook  !" 


18  THE    LUTIN-STEED. 


"  They're  gone  !"  old  Margaret  murmur'd, 

And  fierce  the  Mistral  blew, 
And  spirit  voices  echo'd  round, 

"  Gone  !  gone  !"  the  long  night  through  !- 


"  She  talk'd  of  wind  and  tempest," 
The  careless  wanderers  cried, — 

"  Now  never  walk'd  the  moon  in  heaven, 
With  more  resplendent  pride  ! 

"  Ha  !  there's  old  Caspar's  horse, 
His  mane  like  midnight  flows, 

Mount !  mount !  away,  my  little  steed ! 
How  gallantly  he  goes  ! 

"  He'll  bear  us  to  the  fountain ; 

We'll  have  a  glorious  ride  !" 
"  Oh  !  brothers  dear— I  fear— I  fear  !" 

The  youthful  Adolphe  cried, — 


THE  LUTIN-STEED.  19 

"  He  goes  not  to  the  fountain — 

I  hear  the  sea-waves  roar — 
And  hark !  the  tempest  raves  above— 

And  see — the  rain  doth  pour  ! 

"  Oh  !  turn  him ! — turn  him  homeward  ! 

How  wild — how  fast  he  flies  ! 
It  is — it  is — a  Lutin-steed  ! 

And  he  who  rides  him — dies  !" 

They  strove  in  vain  to  turn  him, 
They  strove  to  check  his  speed ; — 

The  lightning  glares  ! — the  thunder  howls 
Around  the  demon-steed  ! — 

The  ocean  heaves  before  him — 

He  neighs  with  fiendish  joy — 
His  flaming  hoofs  have  touch'd  the  beach — 

Heaven  save  that  hapless  boy  ! 

The  cold  waves  kiss  their  white  lips, 

And  deeper  yet  they  go  ; 
The  cold  waves  close  above  their  heads,— 

And  drown  that  shriek  of  wo  ! — 


20  LOVE'S  REPLY. 


The  maiden  at  her  lattice, — 
The  grandam  at  her  door, — 

And  morning  on  the  misty  hills  ! — 
But  they  come  never  more  ! 


LOVE'S  REPLY. 

I'LL  tell  you  something  chanced  to  me, 
(A  quaint  and  simple  story,) 

Before  I  cross'd,  with  dreaming  heart 
Old  ocean's  gloom  and  glory. 

Around  me  came  three  graceful  girls, 
Their  farewell  whisper  breathing, — 

Julie, — with  light  and  lovely  curls, 
Her  snowy  shoulders  wreathing  ; 


LOVE'S  REPLY.  21 


And  proud  Georgine, — with  stately  mien, 

And  glance  of  calm  hauteur, 
Who  moves — a  Grace, — and  looks — a  queen, 

All  passionless  and  pure  ; 

And  Kate,  whose  low,  melodious  tone 

Is  tuned  by  Truth  and  Feeling, 
Whose  shy  yet  wistful  eyes  talk  on, 

When  fear  her  lips  is  sealing. 

"  From  what  far  country  shall  I  write  ?" 

I  ask'd,  with  pride  elated, 
"  From  what  rare  monument  of  art 

Shall  be  my  letters  dated  V 

Julie  toss'd  back  her  locks  of  light, 

With  girlish  grace  and  glee, — 
"  To  me  from  glorious  Venice  write, 

Queen-city  of  the  Sea  !" 

"  And  thou,  Georgine  V  Her  dark  eyes  flash'd,- 

"  Ah  !  date  to  me  your  lines 
From  some  proud  palace,  where  the  pomp 

Of  olden  Honor  shines  !" 


22  THE   FAN. 


But  Kate, — the  darling  of  my  soul, 

My  bright,  yet  bashful  flower, 
In  whose  dear  heart  some  new,  pure  leaf, 

Seems  to  unfold  each  hour, — 

Kate  turn'd  her  shy,  sweet  looks  from  mine, 

Lest  I  her  blush  should  see, 
And  said — so  only  Love  could  hear — 

"  Write  from  your  heart  to  me  .'" 


THE  FAN. 


A  LOVER  S   FANTASY. 


DAINTY  spirit,  that  dost  lie 
Couch'd  within  the  zephyr's  sigh, 
Murmur  in  mine  earnest  ear 
Music  of  the  starry  sphere  ! 
Softest  melody  divine 
Lend  unto  each  lyric  line, 


THE  FAN.  23 


Till  the  lay  of  love  shall  seem 
Light  and  airy  as  its  theme. 

Ah  !  not  unto  mortal  wight 
Wilt  thou  whisper,  frolic  sprite  ! 
Fancy !  wave  thy  fairy  wing, 
While  the  magic  Fan  I  sing ! 

Airy  minister  of  Fate, 
On  whose  meaning  motions  wait 
Half  an  hundred  butterflies, 
Idle  beaux — more  fond  than  wise — 
Basking  in  the  fatal  smile 
That  but  wins  them  to  beguile  ! 
Blest  be  they  who  fashion'd  thee, 
Beauty's  graceful  toy  to  be  ! 
Virgin  gold  from  Orient  cave — 
Veined  pearl  from  ocean's  wave — 
Showing  like  her  temples  fair 
Through  her  curls  of  lustrous  hair — 
Tints  of  richest  glow  and  light 
From  a  master's  palette  bright, 
On  the  parchment  rarely  wrought, 
Till  the  painting  life  has  caught, — 


24  THE   FAN. 


All  have  made  thee  plaything  fit, 
For  a  maiden's  grace  and  wit. 
She  can  teach  thee  witchery's  spell, 
Make  thy  lightest  motion  tell, 
Bid  thee  speak,  though  mute  thou  art, 
All  the  language  of  the  heart. 

When  her  eyes  say  softly  "  yes," 
Thou  canst  hide  and  yet  express 
All  the  enchanting  blush  would  speak 
While  it  warms  her  modest  cheek, 
And  thy  motion  well  can  show, 
With  one  flutter  to  or  fro, 
Her  disdain's  indignant  "  no." 

Queen  of  fans !  the  downy  pressure 
Of  her  snow-white,  dimpled  hand, 
As  it  clasps  the  costly  treasure, 
Wrought  in  India's  glowing  land, 
Has  it  not  a  soul  impress'd 
On  the  toy  by  her  caress'd  ? 

Ah !  what  ministry  divine, 

Frail,  yet  love-taught  fan,  is  thine  ! 


THE  FAN.  25 


Thou  shouldst  be  a  beauteous  bird, 
Flying  at  her  lightest  word, 
Nestling  near  her  silken  zone, 
Like  a  gem  on  Beauty's  throne, 
Or  a  young  aerial  sprite 
Watching  every  smile  of  light : 
Art  thou  not  ?     Methinks  I  trace, 
Now  and  then,  an  angel  face 
Gleaming,  as  thy  painted  wing 
Flies  before  her — happy  thing ! 
Sometimes  I  could  almost  swear 
Love  himself  had  hidden  there, 
Aiming  thence  his  shafts  of  fire, 
Now  in  sport  and  now  in  ire. 
Hearts  obey  each  proud  behest 
By  thy  lightest  touch  express'd, 
As  thou  glaneest  to  and  fro, 
Fluttering  in  her  hand  of  snow. 
So,  fair  spirit,  fold  thy  wing 
While  thy  ministry  I  sing  ! 
Softly  wave  each  careless  curl 
O'er  her  brow — the  radiant  girl ; 
Fan  each  pure  and  precious  tint 
Feeling  on  her  cheek  doth  print ; 


26  THE  FAN. 


Wake  it  from  its  pure  repose, 
Till  the  dear  blush  comes  and  goes  ; 
Shade  the  dimple's  frolic  grace 
Sporting  o'er  her  sunny  face  ; 
Hide  the  smile  of  playful  scorn 
From  her  spirit's  buoyance  born  ; 
Veil  the  timid  sigh  that  parts, 
Trembling,  from  her  "  heart  of  hearts  ;" 
Aid  the  glances — words  of  light — 
Flashing  from  her  eye's  blue  night, 
And  her  dearest  bidding  do, 
Like  an  Ariel  fond  and  true  ! 

All  sweet  airs  and  incense  wait 
On  thy  wave,  fair  wand  of  Fate  ! 
Soft  and  balmy,  as  her  sigh, 

Be  each  zephyr  thou  dost  wake, 
Round  her  graceful  head  to  fly, 

Blest  be  thou  for  Beauty's  sake ! 

Yet,  oh  spirit !  fold  thy  wing, 
While  thy  ministry  I  sing  ! 
Show  her  how  some  touch,  too  bold, 
Marr'd  thy  robe  of  pearl  and  gold  ; 


THE  FAN.  27 


Whisper  as  thou  wavest  by, 
Beauty's  light  like  thine  will  die 
If  she  waste  its  bloom  divine 
On  the  idlers  round  her  shrine  ; 
Warn  her  that  her  spirit's  wing 
Be  not  ever  fluttering  ; 
For  if  that  should  break,  or  show 
Lightest  shade  upon  its  snow, 
Lives  no  mortal  artisan 
That  can  make  it  bright  again ! 
Tears  may  bathe  the  broken  plume, 
Sighs  may  mourn  its  early  doom — 
Only  may  it  hope  for  rest 
Folded  on  the  Father's  breast. 

So,  fair  spirit,  wave  thy  wing, 
And  my  message  softly  sing ! 
"  Do  thy  spiriting  gently"  there, 
Lest  thou  wound  a  soul  so  rare, 
And  be  this  the  warning  dear 
Murmur'd  in  her  ivory  ear — 

"  Lovely  lady,  have  a  care  ! 
Words  are  more  than  idle  air, 


28  THE   FAN. 


Smiles  can  surer  wound  or  heal 
Than  the  stars,  whose  light  they  steal. 
She  whose  power  is  undenied 
Should  have  pity  with  her  pride, 
Should  remember,  while  her  frown 
Clouds  the  hope  she  may  not  crown, 
Rarest  skill  and  subtlest  art 
Cannot  mend  the  broken  heart  /" 
So,  fair  spirit,  wave  thy  wing, 
And  thy  warning  softly  sing ! 


ro  SYBIL.  29 


TO  SYBIL. 


'  SOOTH  her  in  sorrow  and  brighten  her  smile : 
Chide  her  most  gently  if  folly  beguile ; 
One  so  unsullied  and  trustful  of  heart, 
From  the  good  shepherd  will  never  depart. 

1  Now  she  adores  thee  as  one  without  spot, 
Dreams  not  of  sorrow  to  darken  her  lot. 
Joyful,  yet  tearful,  I  yield  her  to  thee ; 
Take  her,  the  light  of  thy  dwelling  to  be." 


YES  !  go  to  him — thy  young  heart  full 

Of  passionate  romance, 
And  be  the  fiat  of  thy  fate 

His  lordly  word  and  glance ! 

Be  thy  soul's  day,  his  careless  smile  ; 

His  frown,  its  clouded  night ; 
His  voice,  the  music  of  thy  life  ; 

His  love,  thy  one  delight ! 

3* 


30  TO  SYBIL. 


Sit  at  his  feet,  and  raise  to  his 
Those  large,  pure,  dreaming  eyes, 

And  tell  him  all  thy  lovely  thoughts 
As  radiantly  they  rise. 

Press  to  his  hand  that  childish  cheek, 
And  stroke  his  stern  dark  face, 

And  charm  him  with  thy  ways  so  meek, 
Thy  glad,  aerial  grace  ! 

Look  for  his  coming  with  clasp'd  hands 
And  hush'd  and  listening  heart, 

And  strive  to  hide  thy  joyous  tears 
With  woman's  bashful  art. 

And  in  thy  low  Eolian  tones, 

Melodiously  wild, 
Falter  thy  fond,  sweet  welcome  out, 

Oh,  rare,  enchanting  child  1 

Then  if  he  coldly  turn  away, 

In  silence  to  him  steal, 
And  touch  his  soul  with  one  long  gaze 

Of  passionate  appeal. 


TO   SYBIL.  31 


I  know  them  all — th'  endearing  wiles — 
The  sweet,  unconscious  art — 

The  graceful  spells  that  nature  taught 
Her  darling's  docile  heart. 

I  know  them  all — I've  seen  thee  lift, 

At  some  unkindly  tone, 
Those  dark,  upbraiding  eyes  of  thine, 

Where  sorrowing  wonder  shone, 

And  sudden  tears  would  dim  the  glance, 
And  then — the  wrong  forgiven — 

A  smile  would  steal  up  in  the  cloud, 
Like  starlight  into  heaven. 

Go — try  them  all — those  girlish  wiles  ! 

He  cannot  choose  but  love, 
He  cannot  choose  but  guard  from  ill 

His  little,  nestling  dove  ! 

For  rare,  my  Sybil,  'tis  to  see 

Thy  iris-mind  unfold ; 
The  magic  of  thy  maiden  glee, 

That  turns  all  gloom  to  gold  ; — 


32  TO  SYBIL. 


Th'  aurora  blush  that  on  thy  cheek 

Thy  heart's  love-story  tells  ; 
The  wondrous  world  within  thine  eyes 

Lit  up  like  the  gazelle's. 

But  if  thou  think'st,  dear  dreaming  child  ! 

That  he  will  watch  as  now, 
In  after  years,  each  smile  and  shade 

That  cross  thy  changing  brow  ; 

And  modulate  his  tone  to  meet 

The  pleading  of  thy  soul, 
And  feel  in  all  his  wanderings, 

Thy  gentle  breast  his  goal ; 

And  daily  feed  thy  mind  and  heart 

With  hallow'd  love  and  lore, 
Nor  turn  from  those  imploring  eyes, 

That  wistful  look  for  more  ; 

And  watch  thee  where — as  borne  in  air — 
Thou  float'st  the  dance  along, 

And  deem  thy  form  alone  is  fair, 
Of  all  the  fairy  throng ; 


TO  SYBIL.  33 


In  transport  look  and  listen  when 

Thy  light  caressing  hands 
Lure  forth  the  harp's  harmonious  soul, 

From  all  its  silver  bands  ; 

Indulgent  stoop  his  falcon-will 

To  let  it  fly  with  thine, 
And  smile  in  manly  pride  to  see 

His  pet's  soft  plumage  shine  ; 

And  yield  to  every  gay  caprice, 

And  grieve  for  every  sigh, 
And  grant  all  airy  hopes  that  play 

On  pleading  lip  or  eye  ; 

If  this  thy  dream,  enthusiast,  be, 

I  can  but  idly  pray, 
Heaven  shield  thee  in  thy  waking  hour, 

And  keep  it  long  away  ! 


34  A  FLIGHT  OF  FANCY. 


A  FLIGHT  OF  FANCY. 

AT  the  bar  of  Judge  Conscience,  stood  Reason  ar- 

raign'd, 

The  Jury  impannell'd — the  prisoner  chain'd. 
The  Judge  was  facetious,  at  times,  though  severe, 
Now  waking  a  smile,  and  now  drawing  a  tear  ; 
An  old-fashion'd,  fidgety,  queer-looking  wight, 
With  a  clerical  air,  and  an  eye  quick  as  light. 

"  Here,  Reason,  you  vagabond  !  look  in  my  face  ; 
I'm  told  you're  becoming  an  idle  scapegrace. 
They  say  that  young  Fancy,  that  airy  coquette, 
Has  dared  to  fling  round  you  her  luminous  net ; 
That  she  ran  away  with  you,  in  spite  of  yourself, 
For  pure  love  of  frolic — the  mischievous  elf. 

"  The  scandal  is  whisper'd  by  friends  and  by  foes, 
And  darkly  they  hint  too,  that  when  they  propose 


A  FLIGHT  OF  FANCY.  35 

Any  question  to  your  ear,  so  lightly  you're  led, 
At  once  to  gay  Fancy,  you  turn  your  wild  head ; 
And  she  leads  you  off  in  some  dangerous  dance, 
As  wild  as  the  Polka  that  gallop'd  from  France. 

"  Now   up   to   the   stars   with   you,  laughing,  she 

springs, 

With  a  whirl  and  a  whisk  of  her  changeable  wings  ; 
Now  dips  in  some  fountain  her  sun-painted  plume, 
That  gleams  thro'  the  spray,  like    a    rainbow    in 

bloom ; 

Now  floats  in  a  cloud,  while  her  tresses  of  light 
Shine  through  the  frail  boat  and  illumine  its  flight ; 
Now  glides   through   the  woodland   to   gather   its 

flowers  ; 

Now  darts  like  a  flash  to  the  sea's  coral  bowers  ; 
In  short — cuts  such  capers,  that  with  her  I  ween 
It's  a  wonder  you  are  not  ashamed  to  be  seen  ! 

"  Then   she   talks    such    a    language ! — melodious 

enough, 

To  be  sure — but  a  strange  sort  of  outlandish  stuff! 
I'm  told  that  it  licenses  many  a  whapper, 
And  when  once  she  commences  no  frowning  can 

stop  her  ; 


@  — 

36  A  FLIGHT  OF  FANCY. 

Since  it's  new — I've  no  doubt  it  is  very  improper  ! 
They  say  that  she  cares  not  for  order  or  law ; 
That  of  you — you  great  dunce ! — she  but  makes  a 

cat's  paw. 

I've  no  sort  of  objection  to  fun  in  it's  season, 
But  it's  plain  that  this  Fancy  is  fooling  you,  Rea- 


Just  then  into  court  flew  a  strange  little  sprite, 
With  wings  of  all  colors  and  ringlets  of  light ! 
She  frolick'd  round  Reason — till  Reason  grew 

wild, 

Defying  the  court  and  caressing  the  child. 
The  judge  and  the  jury,  the  clerk  and  recorder, 
In  vain  call'd  this  exquisite  creature  to  order  : — 
"  Unheard  of  intrusion  !" — They  bustled  about, 
To  seize  her,  but,  wild  with  delight,  at  the  rout, 
She  flew  from  their  touch  like  a  bird  from  a  spray, 
And  went  waltzing  and  whirling  and  singing  away  ! 

Now  up  to  the  ceiling,  now  down  to  the  floor ! 
Were  never  such  antics  in  courthouse  before  ! 
But  a  lawyer,  well  versed  in  the  tricks  of  his  trade, 
A  trap  for  the  gay  little  innocent  laid  : 
He  held  up  a  mirror,  and  Fancy  was  caught 

6 


A  FLIGHT  OF  FANCY.  37 

By  her  image  within  it,  so  lovely,  she  thought. 
What  could  the  fair  creature  be ! — bending  its  eyes 
On  her  own  with  so  wistful  a  look  of  surprise ! 
She  flew  to  embrace  it.     The  lawyer  was  ready  : 
He  closed  round  the  spirit  a  grasp  cool  and  steady, 
And  she  sigh'd,  while  he  tied  her  two  luminous  wings, 
"  Ah  !  Fancy  and  Falsehood  are  different  things  !" 

The  witnesses — maidens  of  uncertain  age, 
With  a  critic,  a  publisher,  lawyer  and  sage — 
All  scandalized  greatly  at  what  they  had  heard, 
Of  this  poor  little  Fancy,  (who  flew  like  a  bird  !) 
Were  call'd  to  the  stand  and  their  evidence  gave  : 
The  judge  charged  the  jury,  with  countenance  grave. 
Their  verdict  was  "  guilty,"'  and  Reason  look'd  down, 
As  his  honor  exhorted  her  thus,  with  a  frown  : — 

"  This  Fancy,  this  vagrant,  for  life  shall  be  chain'd, 
In  your  own  little  cell,  where  you  should  have  re- 

main'd  ; 

And  you — for  your  punishment — jailer  shall  be  : 
Don't  let  your  accomplice  come  coaxing  to  me  ! 
I'll  none  of  her  nonsense — the  little  wild  witch ! 
Nor  her  bribes — although  rumor  does  say  she  is  rich. 

4 


-.0) 


38  A  FLIGHT  OF  FANCY. 

"  I've  heard  that  all  treasures  and  luxuries  rare, 
Gather  round  at  her  bidding,  from  earth,  sea,  and 

air; 

And  some  go  so  far  as  to  hint,  that  the  powers 
Of  darkness  attend  her  more  sorrowful  hours. 
But  go  !"  and  Judge  Conscience,  who  never  was 

bought, 
Just  bow'd  the  pale  prisoner  out  of  the  court. 

'Tis  said, — that  poor   Reason   next   morning   was 

found, 

At  the  door  of  her  cell,  fast  asleep  on  the  ground, 
And  nothing  within,  but  one  plume  rich  and  rare, 
Just  to  show  that  young  Fancy's  wing  once  had  been 

there.. 
She  had  dropp'd  it,  no  doubt,  while  she  strove  to  get 

through 
The  hole  in  the  lock,  which  she  could  not  undo, 


THE  HEART'S  ANSWER.  39 


THE  HEART'S  ANSWER. 


"  SPEAK — speak  to  me,  darling ! 

Hide  thy  sweet  blush  in  my  breast ; 
Breathe  but  one  dear  little  murmur  ; 

Thine  eyes  shall  tell  me  the  resj. 

"  Say  only  thou  wilt  be  mine,  love  ; 

Whisper  me  one  little — '  Yes !' 
Ah  !  thou  art  silent, — thy  soul,  love, 

Feels  not  my  pleading  caress  !" 

Low  as  the  sigh  of  a  flower, 
Heard  in  the  stillness  of  night, 

Came  the  fond  tones  of  the  maiden, 
Trembling  with  fear  and  delight,— 


40  .    LOVE'S  MISTAKE. 

"  Ask  not  the  word  from  my  lips,  love  ; 

Need'st  thou  so  idle  a  sign  ! 
Dost  thou  not  hear  my  heart  answer, 

Thus  beating  softly  on  thine  V 


LOVE'S  MISTAKE 

ON  mission  pure,  from  realms  divine, 
Young  Love  was  sent  to  Virtue's  shrine, 
But,  wild  and  gay,  he  "  stopp'd  to  play" 
With  sportive  Beauty  by  the  way. 

She  led  him  thro'  her  balmy  bowers, 
She  chain'd  him  with  a  wreath  of  flowers, 
She  charm'd  him  with  her  magic  smile, 
And  softly  murmur'd — "  Rest  awhile  !" 

Alas  !  his  sight  is  blinded  quite, 

By  Beauty's  dazzling  glance  of  light ; 


TO  A  DEAR  LITTLE  TRUANT.  41 

And  while  the  wily  siren  sings, 
The  boy  forgets  his  angel-wings ! 

Yet  still  he  sometimes  leaves  his  play, 
And  asks  to  Virtue's  shrine  the  way  ; 
But  Beauty  weaves  anew  her  chain, 
And  Virtue  looks  for  Love  in  vain. 


TO  A  DEAR  LITTLE   TRUANT, 
Who  wouldn't  come  home, 

WHEN  are  you  coming  ?  the  flowers  have  come ! 

Bees  in  the  balmy  air  happily  hum  ; 

In  the  dim  woods  where  the  cool  mosses  are, 

Gleams  the  Anemone's  little,  light  star  ; 

Tenderly,  timidly  down  in  the  dell, 

Sighs  the  sweet  violet,  droops  the  harebell ; — 

Soft  in  the  wavy  grass  lightens  the  dew ; 

Spring  keeps  her  promises, — why  do  not  you  ? 


42  TO  A  DEAR  LITTLE  TRUANT. 

Up  in  the  blue  air,  the  clouds  are  at  play, — 
You  are  more  graceful  and  lovely  than  they  ; 
Birds  in  the  branches  sing  all  the  day  long, 
When  are  you  coming  to  join  in  their  song  ? 
Fairer  than  flowers,  and  fresher  than  dew  ! 
Other  sweet  things  are  here, — why  are  not  you  ? 

Why  don't  you  come  ?  we  have  welcomed  the  Rose  ! 
Every  light  zephyr,  as  gayly  it  goes, 
Whispers  of  other  flowers,  met  on  its  way, 
Why  has  it  nothing  of  you,  love,  to  say  I 
Why  does  it  tell  us  of  music  and  dew  ? 
Rose  of  the  South  !  we  are  waiting  for  you ! 

Do  not  delay,  darling,  'mid  the  dark  trees, 

"  Like  a  lute"  murmurs  the  musical  breeze ; 

Sometimes  the  brook,  as  it  trips  by  the  flowers, 

Hushes  its  warble  to  listen  for  yours. 

Pure  as  the  rivulet, — lovely  and  true  ! 

Spring  should  have  waited  till  she  could  bring  you  ! 


o 

LULTI.  43 


LULU. 

THERE'S  many  a  maiden 

More  brilliant,  by  far, 
With  tbe  step  of  a  fawn, 

And  the  glance  of  a  star  ; 
But  heart  there  was  never 

More  tender  and  true, 
Than  beats  in  the  bosom 

Of  darling  Lulu  ! 

Her  eyes  are  too  modest 

To  dazzle  ;  but  oh ! 
They  win  you  to  love  her, 

If  you  will  or  no  ! 
And  when  they  glance  up, 

With  their  shy,  startled  look, 
Her  soul  trembles  in  them, 

Like  light  in  a  brook. 


44  LULU 

There  are  bright  eyes  by  thousands, 
Black,  hazel,  and  blue  ; 

But  whose  are  so  loving 
As  those  of  Lulu  ! 

And  waves  of  soft  hair, 

That  a  poet  would  vow 
Was  moonlight  on  marble, 

Droop  over  her  brow. 
The  rose  rarely  blooms 

Thro'  that  light,  silken  maze, 
But  when  it  does  play  there, 

How  softly  it  plays  ! 
Oh  !  there's  many  a  maiden 

More  brilliant,  'tis  true, 
But  none  so  enchanting 

As  little  Lulu ! 

She  flits,  like  a  fairy, 

About  me  all  day, 
Now  nestling  beside  me, 

Now  up  and  away  ! 
She  singeth  unbidden, 

With  warble  as  wild 


LULU.  45 


As  the  lay  of  the  meadow-lark, 

Innocent  child ! 
She's  playful,  and  tender, 

And  trusting,  and  true, 
She's  sweet  as  a  lily, 

My  dainty  Lulu ! 

She  whispers  sweet  fancies, 

Now  mournful,  now  bright, 
Then  deepen  her  glances, 

With  love  and  delight ; 
And  the  slow,  timid  smile, 

That  dawns  in  her  face, 
Seems  fill'd  with  her  spirit's 

Ineffable  grace. 
Oh  !  the  world  cannot  offer 

A  treasure  so  true, 
As  the  childlike  devotion 

Of  happy  Lulu ! 


46  A  REPLY. 


A  REPLY 

TO  ONE   WHO  SAID,  "  WRITE   FROM   YOUR  HEART. 

AH  !  woman  still 

Must  veil  the  shrine, 
Where  feeling  feeds  the  fire  divine, 

Nor  sing  at  will, 

Untaught  by  art, 
The  music  prison'd  in  her  heart ! 

Still  gay  the  note, 

And  light  the  lay, 
The  woodbird  warbles  on  the  spray, 

Afar  to  float ; 

But  homeward  flown, 
Within  his  nest,  how  changed  the  tone  ! 

Oh  !  none  can  know, 

Who  have  not  heard 

The  music-soul  that  thrills  the  bird, 


TO  MY  MOTHER.  47 

The  carol  low, 
As  coo  of  dove 
He  warbles  to  his  woodland-love  ! 

The  world  would  say 

'Twas  vain  and  wild, 
Th'  impassion'd  lay  of  Nature's  child; 

And  Feeling,  so 

Should  veil  the  shrine, 
Where  softly  glow  her  fires  divine  ! 


TO  MY  MOTHER. 
> 

SWEET  mother !  you  fear  while  no  longer  you  guide 
me, 

The  Past  will  be  lost  in  the  Present's  gay  show ; 
But  ah  !  whether  joy  or  misfortune  betide  me, 

I  love  you  too  dearly,  your  love  to  forego  ! 


48  TO  MY  MOTHER. 


I  would  not,  for  all  that  the  Future  can  bring  me, 
Forget  the  dear  hours  when  I  sat  at  your  feet, 

The  song,  that  was  sure  of  approval  to  sing  thee, 
The  look,  that  was  always  so  loving  to  meet. 

When  1  flew  to  your  smile  with  each  joyous  emo- 
tion, 

But  hid  from  your  heart  every  sorrow  I  knew  ; — 
Oh  !  wayward  perhaps  was  my  childish  devotion  ; 

But  it  ne'er  for  a  moment  was  cold  or  untrue. 

And  still,  when  the  chill  wing  of  wo  darkens  o'er 


me, 


I  am  grateful  its  shadow  extends  not  to  thee  ; 
While  if  Praise  thrill  my  heart  or  if  joy  smile  before 

me, 
I  sigh—"  Could  she  know  it,  how  glad  she  would 

be!" 

Sweet  mother !    too  fondly  your  darling  you  cher- 
ish'd, 

For  me  to  forget  you,  wherever  I  go, — 
Ah  no  !  not  till  memory's  power  has  perish'd  ; 

I  love  you  too  dearly  to  turn  from  you  so  ! 


THE  BROKEN  LYRE.  49 


THE  BROKEN  LYRE. 

A  DAINTY  lyre  was  lent  to  Joy, 
A  simple,  frail,  but  treasured  toy  ; — 
And  gaily  sweet  its  tones  were  heard, 
As  warble  of  a  wandering  bird. 

A  blooming  boy  from  distant  clime 
Came  by  and  caught  its  silvery  chime, 
He  coax'd  from  Joy  his  fragile  lyre, 
And  swept  the  strings  with  hand  of  fire. 

Ah  !  wo  the  day — that  reckless  child 
Awoke  the  chords  with  will  so  wild  ! 
One  pleading,  passionate  strain  he  play'd, 
And  broke  the  lyre,  that  Heaven  had  made  ! 

Ah  !  wo  the  day — that  stranger  sprite 
Attuned  to  grief  the  plaything  light, 
And  strain'd  its  chords  with  childish  art ! — 
The  boy  was  Love — the  lyre  a  heart ! 

5 


50         GOLDEN  RULES  IN  RHYME. 


GOLDEN  RULES  IN  RHYME. 

FROM  A  MATRON  TO  A  MAIDEN. 

"  While  I  touch  the  string, 

Wreathe  my  brows  with  laurel ; 
For  the  song  I  sing 

Has  for  once  a  moral !" — MOORE. 

COME  listen,  while  in  careless  rhyme, 
Some  golden  rules  I  give  you 

That  you  may  hoard  the  wealth  of  Time, 
And  life  may  not  deceive  you. 

In  childhood's  hours,  when  in  the  sun 
Our  sportive  group  assembled, 

And  off  our  frail  pipes,  one  by  one, 
The  glittering  bubbles  trembled  ; 

If  mine  with  lovelier  lustre  shone, 
Or  higher  soar'd, — what  trouble ! 

My  brother,  leaving  all  his  own, 
Blew  out  my  beaming  bubble  ! 


GOLDEN  RULES   IN  RHYME.  51 

And  thus  the  world — when  young  Romance 

Her  airy  dreams  is  weaving, 
And  Hope's  soft  rainbows  round  them  dance^ 

As  radiant,  as  deceiving, 

Thus  will  the  world,  my  child,  destroy, 

With  treachery  more  refined, 
The  soaring  dreams  of  love  and  joy, 

The  bubbles  of  the  mind  ! 

Then  yet  in  time  a  lesson  learn, 

From  one  who  learn'd  too  late, 
That  world,  whose  laugh  we  laugh  to  scorn, 

Her  fiat  here  is  fate  ! 

When  honor,  placed  in  reason's  scales, 

Outweighs  THE  OWL'S  opinion, 
All  free  and  fearless,  trim  your  sails, 

And  steer  for  Heaven's  dominion  ! 

But  still  in  trifles,  where  no  wrong 

Can  come  of  yielding  to  her, 
Oh  !  chord  with  hers  your  careless  song, 

And  of  her  smiles  be  sure ! 


52  GOLDEN  RULES  IN  RHYME. 

When  Love  would  fling  his  flowery  net 
Around  your  joyous  spirit, 

Ask  not  for  rank,  or  wealth,  or  wit, 
But  yield  to  manly  merit. 

Remember — Love  but  seldom  strings 
His  flowers  on  golden  wire, 

Remember — Wit  has  wanton  wings, 
That  might  put  out  his  fire. 

Your  heart  be  like  a  stainless  glass, 
Where  fleeting,  outward  graces 

But  lend  their  beauty  as  they  pass, 
And  leave  behind  no  traces  ; 

On  which — its  subtle  nature's  such, 
The  gem  of  gems — in  glory — 

The  diamond,  with  its  lightning  touch. 
Alone  can  write  love's  story. 

As  to  the  moon,  the  ocean's  tide 
Subjects  its  strength  unruly, 

So  let  a  light  from  Heaven,  love,  guide 
The  tide  of  passion  truly. 


GOLDEN  RULES  IN  RHYME.  53 

If  sorrow  come — resist  it  not, 

Nor  yet  bow  weakly  to  it ; 
Look  up  to  meet  the  Heaven-sent  storm  ; 

But  see  the  rainbow  thro'  it ! 

And  let  not  pleasure's  reckless  hands 
Too  often  shake  time's  glass,  love  : 

At  best,  the  few  and  priceless  sands 
Too  surely,  swiftly  pass,  love  ! 

And  seek  not  bliss  on  airy  heights, 

Where  dizzy  power  doth  rally ! 
The  "  fragrant  little  heart's-ease"  lights 

The  lowliest,  humblest  valley. 

The  gem  that  clasps  a  royal  robe 

The  worldling's  eye  may  dazzle, 
But  Love  will  light  his  glow-worm  lamp 

In  cot  as  well  as  castle. 

The  magic  flower  in  Erin's  Isle, 

That  bears  about  a  blessing, 
Perchance  is  but  good-humor's  smile, 

A  kindly  heart's  caressing. 


54  GOLDEN  RULES  IN  RHYME. 

If  comes  a  blow,  from  friend  or  foe, 

With  earnest  good  avenge  it, 
"  The  sandal-tree,  with  fragrant  sigh, 

Perfumes  the  axe  that  rends  it." 

Be  like  the  sun,  whose  eye  of  joy 

Ne'er  on  a  shadow  lay,  love  ! 
Be  like  the  rill  that  singeth  still, 

Whate'er  be  in  its  way,  love ! 

Ne'er  waste  your  heart  in  vain  regret, 
Tho'  youth  be  dimm'd  by  care  ; 

"  For  lovelier  flowers  than  summer  wreathes 
May  twine  in  winter's  hair." 

With  childlike  trust  look  forward  still, 

For  Heaven  is  always  near  ; 
"  Full  oft  our  very  fear  of  ill 

Exceeds  the  ill  we  fear." 

Nor  question  Fate  !  the  world-ship  still 

Under  seal'd  orders  sailing  ; 
'Twere  best  the  great  Commander's  skill 

To  trust  with  faith  unfailing. 


GOLDEN  RULES   IN  RHYME.  55 

Nor  idly  waste  the  golden  hours, 
The  plumes  of  Time's  swift  wings  : 

The  watch  must  still  be  wound  to  work, 
Or  rust  corrodes  its  springs. 

If  once  a  purpose  pure  and  high 

You  form,  for  naught  forego  it ! 
"  The  mulberry  leaf  to  silk  is  changed 

By  Patience,"  says  the  poet. 

Let  Fancy  fly  her  fairy  kite, 

And  light  with  wit  its  wing,  dear ; 

But  oh,  lest  it  go  out  of  sight, 
Bid  Reason  hold  the  string,  dear. 

For,  soaring  where  the  poet's  heaven 

With  starry  gems  is  spangled. 
It  might,  by  Folly's  zephyr  driven, 

In  moonshine  get  entangled. 

Yet  sneer  not  thou  at  those  who  rise 

To  loftier  delusions  ; 
"  Great  truths  are  oft,"  the  sage  replies, 

"  Foreshadow'd  by  illusions." 


O 


56  GOLDEN  RULES  IN  RHYME. 

Confide  in  Friendship's  right  good-will, 

But  not  too  often  task  it ; 
"  It  is  the  highest  price  we  pay 

For  any  thing,  to  ask  it." 

If  Nature's  glorious  overture 
Discordant  seem  to  be,  love, 

Be  sure  your  heart  is  out  of  tune, 
And  try  the  sounding  key,  love  ! 

Let  more  than  the  domestic  mill 
Be  turned  by  Feeling's  river  ; 

Let  Charity  "  begin  at  home," 
But  not  stay  there  forever. 

Look  on  the  poor  with  pitying  eyes, 
And  "  reason  not  the  need ;" 

For  angels  in  that  mean  disguise 
May  often  ask  their  meed. 

But  if  a  debt  by  honor  seal'd 

Uncancell'd  yet  remain, 
Oh,  ne'er  to  generous  impulse  yield 

What  Justice  asks  in  vain ! 


GOLDEN  RULES  IN  RHYME.  57 

Be  frank  and  pure,  and  brave  and  true, — 

True  to  thyself  and  Heaven  ; 
And  be  thy  friends,  the  gifted  few ; 

And  be  thy  foes  forgiven. 

And  hold  thyself  so  dear,  so  high, 

That  evil  come  not  near  thee, 
That  meanness  dare  not  meet  thine  eye, 

And  Falsehood  fly  and  fear  thee  ! 

Shrink  not  to  aim  the  shafts  of  wit, 

At  all  that's  mean  or  narrow  ; 
But  oh,  before  you  bend  the  bow, 

Be  sure  it  holds  the  arrow  ! 

Command  your  temper,  guard  your  tongue, 

Lest  they  have  sway  undue  ; 
For  deeds,  not  words,  the  bell  be  rung, 

Which  fame  may  ring  for  you  ! 

And  so,  if  from  my  careless  rhyme, 

You  cull  the  rose  of  Reason, 
I  have  not  wasted  all  my  time, 

But  said  "  a  word  in  season." 


i© 

58  A  SONG. 


A  SONG. 

CALL  me  pet  names,  dearest !  Call  me  a  bird, 
That  flies  to  thy  breast  at  one  cherishing  word, 
That  folds  its  wild  wings  there,  ne'er  dreaming  of 

flight, 

That  tenderly  sings  there  in  loving  delight ! 
Oh ! .  my    sad   heart   keeps    pining    for    one    fond 

word, — 
Call  me  pet  names,  dearest !  Call  me  thy  bird  ! 

Call  me  sweet  names,  darling !  Call  me  a  flower, 
That  lives  in  the  light  of  thy  smile  each  hour, 
That  droops  when  its   heaven — thy   heart — grows 

cold, 

That  shrinks  from  the  wicked,  the  false  and  bold, 
That  blooms  for  thee  only,  through  sunlight  and 

shower ; 
Call  me  pet  names,  darling !  Call  me  thy  flower ! 


A  SONG.  59 


Call  me  fond  names,  dearest !  Call  me  a  star, 
Whose  smile's  beaming  welcome  thou  feel'st  from 

afar, 

Whose  light  is  the  clearest,  the  truest  to  thee, 
When  the  "  night-time  of  sorrow"  steals  over  life's 

sea: 

Oh  !  trust  thy  rich  bark,  where  its  warm  rays  are, 
Call  me  pet  names,  darling !  Call  me  thy  star  ! 

Call  me  dear  names,  darling  !  Call  me  thine  own  ! 

Speak  to  me  always  in  Love's  low  tone  ! 

Let  not  thy  look  nor  thy  voice  grow  cold  : 

Let  my  fond  worship  thy  being  enfold  ; 

Love  me  forever,  and  love  me  alone  ! 

Call  me  pet  names,  darling !  Call  me  thine  own ! 


60  THE  SPIRIT'S  VOYAGE. 


THE  SPIRIT'S  VOYAGE. 


"  When  the  child  was  buried,  a  little  canoe  with  a  sail  to  it,  la- 
den with  bread-fruit  and  cocoas,  was  sent  off  from  the  shore  with 
a  fair  wind,  in  order,  as  they  said,  to  bear  the  spirit  of  the  dead 
away  from  the  land  of  the  living." 


"  THEY'VE  fill'd  with  fruit  their  frail  canoe, 
With  fruit  and  flowers  of  brilliant  hue, 
A  blooming  freight — but  whose  the  hand 
To  guide  the  light  thing  from  the  land  ] 
So  feathery  light, — 'twould  seem  a  sin 
To  trust  a  fairy's  weight  within. 
The  waves  are  bright, — the  skies  are  fair, — 
A  balmy  blessing  is  the  air, — 
Her  sail  is  set, — she  glides  away ! 
Where  goes  the  graceful  boat  to-day  ? 
I  hear  no  voice  come  o'er  the  tide  ; 
I  see  no  form  the  helm  beside  ; 
And  it  might  seem  a  moment's  toy, 


THE  SPIRIT'S  VOYAGE.  61 

But  that  they  wear  no  smile  of  joy, 

And  fondly  watch  its  snowy  wing, 

As  if  it  were  a  holy  thing  : — 

Why  send  they  forth  their  boat  to  be 

A  plaything  for  the  reckless  sea  1" 

"  Oh,  stranger !  calm  or  wild  the  tide, 

Their  light  canoe  will  safely  glide, 

And  all  unscathed  by  tempest-shock, 

By  coral-reef  or  roughest  rock, 

Ere  morn,  its  white  sail  will  be  furl'd 

Forever  in  the  spirit-world. 

A  viewless  hand  that  bark  obeys, 

A  voice  unheard  the  sea-wave  sways, 

A  thing  so  holy  and  so  fair, 

Serene  and  safe,  is  smiling  there, 

That  fiercest  winds  before  it  falter, 

And  into  harmless  zephyrs  alter. 

Ah  !  well  may  they  the  wanderer  mark ; 

For  know, — within  that  blessed  bark, 

The  spirit  of  a  little  child 

Is  playing  on  the  waters  wild  ! 

Behold  our  chieftain's  burial-ground ! 

We  raised  to-day  another  mound. 

Behold  its  lone  and  hallow'd  tree  ! 

So  graceful  and  so  fair  was  she. 


62  THE  SPIRIT'S  VOYAGE. 

But  look ! — the  boat  is  seen  no  more  ; 
The  mourning  train  have  left  the  shore  ; 
And,  hark !  those  accents  sad  and  wild ! 
Our  island  chief  laments  his  child." 


THE  LAMENT. 

No  more  ! — ah  !  never,  never  more  ! 

Her  precious  feet  will  tread, 
Like  light,  our  dwelling's  coral  floor,* 

By  young  affection  led ; 

Those  little  feet,  whose  graceful  fall, 

So  airy  and  so  gay, 
Broke  not  the  frailest  shell  of  all 

That  glitter'd  in  her  way. 

No  more  !     Ah  !  never,  never  more, 
Her  glancing  hands  will  braid 

Our  painted  mats  to  shade  the  door, 
Where  warm  the  noontide  play'd  ! 


*  The  floor  of  the  hut  is  strewed  with  fragments  of  coral  and 
shell. 


THE  SPIRIT'S  VOYAGE.  63 

No  more  with  lightest  limbs  she'll  spring 

Far  up  the  cocoa-tree, 
No  more  the  cocoa-cup  she'll  bring, 

With  sunny  smile  to  me ! 

But  safer,  through  the  land  of  souls, 

Those  tender  feet  shall  go, 
And  where  the  endless  river  rolls, 

More  rich  the  cocoas  grow ; 

And  still  beneath  her  joyous  hand 

The  spirit-fruit  shall  rise, 
Forever  blooming  through  the  land, 

Where  nothing  droops  and  dies ! 

Her  dark  hair's  long  and  glossy  stream, 

Shall  bright  kahullahs  deck ; 
And  wreaths  of  rainbow  shells  shall  gleam 

Around  her  arms  and  neck. 

Play  on  amid  those  fragrant  bowers, 

My  fair  and  happy  child ! 
Ere  long  another  bark  of  ours 

Shall  brave  the  waters  wild ; 


Q 

64  A  REMONSTRANCE. 

And  though  'twould  scarce — a  boat  so  weak, 

The  sin-weighed  soul,  sustain, 
A  father's  spirit  cannot  seek 

His  only  child  in  vain  ! 


A  REMONSTRANCE. 

WRITTEN   AT  THE   CATSKILL  MOUNTAIN  HOUSE. 

WHAT,  here !  where  the  soul  feels  an  angel's  elation, 
Where  the  balm  of  the  breeze  is  worth  all  the 

world's  wealth  ! 

Oh !  profane  not  the  place  by  so  low  a  libation, 
While  pure  from  the  rock  springs  the  fountain  of 
health ! 

What,  here !  where  the  wood-bird  its  warble  subdu- 
ing, 

Keeps  holy  our  Sabbath  with  music  and  love, 
And  Earth,  her  wild  blossoms  forever  renewing, 

Sends  up,  in  their  perfume,  her  praises  above  ! 


A  REMONSTRANCE.  65 

Where  the  skies  seem  to  bend,  in  their  luminous 
beauty, 

So  loving  and  low  o'er  the  green  mountain-sod, 
That  the  spirit,  attuned  to  devotion  and  duty, 

Sees  Nature  embracing  her  Father  and  God ! 

No  temple  can  match,  with  a  glory  so  solemn, 
The  forest-cathedral  that  rises  around  ; 

The  pine's  stately  shaft,  for  the  fair  marble  column, 
All  vein'd  with    the     sunlight,    and    gracefully 
crown'd ; 

Its  dome — the  unlimited  arch,  glowing  o'er  us ; 
Its  censer — yon   budding   spray,    swung  by  the 

breeze  ; 

Its  music — the  hymn  of  the  fountain  before  us ; 
Its  light — Heaven's  smile — stealing  soft  through 
the  trees : 

And  oh  !  the  bright  treasures  around  and  below  us> 

The  buds  of  the  wild  mountain-laurel,  behold  ! 
So  perfect,  so   gem-like  !    where,  where  will  you 

show  us 
A  richer  mosaic  in  temple  of  old  ? 

6* 


66        BOIS  TON  SANG,  BEAUMANOIR. 

Profane  not  the  place  by  so  base  a  libation ! 

Look  around  ye — look  upward !  and  drink  if  ye 

dare! 
Away  with  the  wine-cup,  the  curse  of  creation  ! 

Yon  fount  has  enough  for  us  all,  and  to  spare. 


"BOIS  TON  SANG,  BEAUMANOIR!"* 

FIERCE  raged  the  combat — the  foemen  press'd  nigh, 

When  from  young  Beaumanoir  rose  the  wild  cry, 

Beaumanoir,  'mid  them  all,  bravest  and  first, 

"  Give  me  to  drink,  for  I  perish  of  thirst !" 

Hark !  at  his  side,  in  the  deep  tones  of  ire, 

"  Bois  ton  SANG,  Beaumanoir !"  shouted  his  sire  ! 

Deep  had  it  pierced  him — the  foemen's  swift  sword — 
Deeper  his  soul  felt  the  wound  of  that  word ! 

*  The  incident  is  related  in  Froissart's  Chronicles. 


THE  LILY'S  DELUSION.  67 

Back  to  the  battle,  with  forehead  all  flush'd, 
Stung  to  wild  fury,  the  noble  youth  rush'd ! 
Scorn  in  his  dark  eyes — his  spirit  on  fire — 
Deeds  were  his  answer  that  day  to  his  sire. 
Still  where  triumphant  the  young  hero  came, 
Glory's  bright  garland  encircled  his  name  ; 
But  in  her  bower,  to  beauty  a  slave, 
Dearer  the  guerdon  his  lady-love  gave, 
While  on  his  shield  that  no  shame  had  defaced, 
"  Bois  ton  sang,  Beaumanoir  !"  proudly  she  traced ! 


THE  LILY'S  DELUSION. 

A  COLD,  calm  star  look'd  out  of  heaven, 
And  smiled  upon  a  tranquil  lake, 

Where,  pure  as  angel's  dream  at  even, 
A  Lily  lay  but  half  awake. 

The  flower  felt  that  fatal  smile 

And  lowlier  bow'd  her  conscious  head  ; 


68    THE  FETTER  'NEATH  THE  FLOWERS. 


"  Why  does  he  gaze  on  me  the  while !" 
The  light,  deluded  Lily  said. 

Poor  dreaming  flower ! — too  soon  beguiled, 
She  cast  nor  thought  nor  look  elsewhere, 

Else  she  had  known  the  star  but  smiled 
To  see  himself  reflected  there. 


THE  FETTER  'NEATH  THE  FLOWERS. 

CUPID  flung  his  garland  gaily 
O'er  a  maid  in  seeming  play  ; — 

Sage  Experience  whisper'd  daily, 

"  Break  the  chain,  while  yet  you  may  !' 

"  Why  *?"  she  cried—"  'tis  but  a  toy, 
Form'd  of  many  a  fragrant  flower  ; 

Let  me  still  its  bloom  enjoy, — 
I  can  break  it  any  hour." 


TO .  69 

Long  she  sported  freely,  lightly, 
With  her  soft  and  glowing  chain  ; — 

"  Nay  !  it  clasps  my  heart  so  tightly, 
I  must  break  the  toy  in  twain." 

Vain  resolve  ! — the  tie  that  bound  her, 
Harden'd  'neath  her  struggling  will  ; 

Fast  its  blossoms  fell  around  her, 
But  the  fetter  linger'd  still. 


TO 


THEY  tell  me  in  Fashion's  illumined  saloon, 
Where  the  dance  lightly  echoes  the  melody's  tune, 
Where  Beauty  and  Grace  weave  the  spell  of  delight, 
And  the  waltz  and  mazourka  mock  Time  in  his  flight, 
Where  they  crown  the  gay  hours  with  rarest  of 

flowers, 

No  forms  floating  there  are  more  lovely  than  yours  ; 
That  the  brightest  of  balls  wants  a  charm  and  a  grace, 
If  your  eyes  refuse  their  soft  light  to  the  place. 


70  TO  - 

I  seek  not — I  love  not  the  balls  of  the  gay, 
Where  my  lone  spirit  pines  for  its  dear  ones  away ; 
I  see  not  your  beauty  when  deck'd  for  the  dance, 
When  blossom  and  gem  mock  the  blush  and  the 

glance ; 

You  come  not  to  me  in  the  glow  of  your  pride, 
For  you  know  I've  a  welcome,  but  nothing  beside ; 
Yet  you  bring  me  a  smile  that  is  sweeter  by  far 
Than  the  gay  one  whose  light  is  the  festival's  star ; 
While  with  heart  full  of  love,  as  your  hands  are  of 

toys, 

You  bless  sunny  childhood  by  sharing  its  joys. 
Oh  !  dearer  its  innocent  rapture  than  all 
The  praises  that  follow  the  belle  of  the  ball ; 
And  you  seem  at  such  moments  more  graceful  to  me, 
Than  you  would  when  array'd  for  the  festival's  glee. 


TO   SARAH.  71 


TO   SARAH, 

ARRANGING   HER  HAIR. 

OH,  rich  in  heart !  what  matter  how 
The  silken  tresses  shade  your  brow  ? 
What  matter,  whether  gem  or  rose, 

Or  simple  riband  wreathe  your  hair, 
While  that  soft  blush  so  purely  glows, 

While  those  dark  eyes  such  beauty  wear  ? 

No  rich  array  could  lend  your  form, 
Thus  airy-light,  one  added  charm  ; 
No  jewel  gift  that  girlish  face 
With  lovelier  glow  or  softer  grace ; 
And  he  who  looks  on  you  with  eyes, 
Where  all  his  soul  to  yours  replies, 
Is  prouder  of  you  simply  so, 
Than  when  adorn'd  your  graces  glow ; 
And  joys  to  know  his  fairy  flower 


72  VENUS  AND  THE   MODERN  BELLE. 

Can  gayly  bloom  in  Home's  sweet  bower, 
While  some,  less  fair,  the  hot-house  air 
Of  Flattery  and  Excitement  need, 
Their  frail  and  fleeting  smiles  to  feed. 

Ah  !  "  bonnie  bird  !" — thus  ever  rest, 
Confiding  in  your  love-built  nest ; 
And  when  around  you  throng  the  few 
I  leave,  who  share  my  love  with  you, 
Oh !  warble  soft,  in  friendship's  ear, 

Her  name,  who'd  gladly  share  your  glee, 
But  do  not  sing  loo  sweetly,  dear, 

Lest  you  beguile  them  all  from  me. 


VENUS   AND   THE    MODERN  BELLE. 

YOUNG  Beauty  look'd  over  her  gems  one  night, 
And  stole  to  her  glass  with  a  petulant  air  : 

She  braided  her  hair  with  their  burning  light, 

Till  they  play'd  like  the  gleam  of  a  glowworm 
there. 


VENUS  AND  THE    MODERN  BELLE.  73 

Then  she  folded,  over  her  form  of  grace, 
A  costly  robe  from  an  Indian  loom, — 

But  a  cloud  overshadow'd  her  exquisite  face, 
And  Love's  sunny  dimple  was  hid  in  the  gloom. 

"  It  is  useless !"  she  murmur'd, — "  my  jewels  have 

lost 
All   their   lustre,    since  last    they   illumined  my 

curls !" 
And  she  snatch'd  off  the  treasures,  and  haughtily 

toss'd, 
Into  brilliant  confusion,  gold,  rubies,  and  pearls. 

Young  Beauty  was  plainly  provoked  to  a  passion ; 
"  And  what1?"  she  exclaim'd,   "  shall  the  star  of 

the  ball 

Be   seen   by  the   beaux,  in   a  gown  of  this  fash- 
ion?"— 
Away  went  the  robe, — ribands,  laces,  and  all ! 

"  Oh !  Paphian  goddess  !"  she  sigh'd  in  despair, 

"  Could  I  borrow  that  mystic  and  magical  zone, 
Which  Juno  of  old  condescended  to  wear, 

And   which   lent   her  a  witchery  sweet  as  your 
own  !"— 

7 


Q 

74  VENUS  AND  THE    MODERN   BELLE. 

She  said,  and  she  started ;  for  lo !  in  the  glass, 
Beside  her  a  shape  of  rich  loveliness  came '. 

She  turn'd, — it  was  Venus  herself!  and  the  lass 
Stood  blushing  before  her,  in  silence  and  shame. 

"  Fair  girl !"  said  the  goddess—"  the  girdle  you  seek 
Is  one  you  can  summon  at  once,  if  you  will ; 

It  will  wake  the  soft  dimple  and  bloom  of  your  cheek, 
And,  with  peerless  enchantment,  your  flashing 
eyes  fill. 

"  No  gem  in  your  casket  such  lustre  can  lend, 
No  silk  wrought  in  silver,  such  beauty  bestow  ; 

With  that  talisman,  heed  not,  tho'  simply,  my  friend, 
Your  robe  and  your  ringlets  unjewell'd  may  flow!" 

"  Oh,  tell  it  me  !  give  it  me !" — Beauty  exclaim'd, 
As  Hope's  happy  smile  to  her  rosy  mouth  stole  : 
"  Nay !  you  wear  it  e'en  now,  since  your  temper  is 

tamed, — 

'Tis  the  light  of  Good  Humor, — that  gem  of  the 
soul !" 


) 


THE  FLOWER  AND  BROOK.         75 


THE  FLOWER  AND  BROOK. 

THE  brook  tripp'd  by,  with  blossom  and  sigh, 
And  soft  in  music-murmurs  sung, 

While  all  the  flowers  that  blossom'd  nigh, 
Were  hush'd  to  hear  that  silver  tongue. 

"  Ah,  virgin  violet !"  breathed  the  brook, 
"  Whose  blue  eye  shuns  the  light,  the  air, 

I  love  you !  in  this  true  heart  look, 

And  see — your  own  sweet  image  there  !" 

The  bashful  violet  bent  her  brow, 

But  as  she  gazed,  she  sigh'd  in  sorrow, 

"  Oh  !  faithless  heart— oh  !  idle  vow  ! 
Beloved  to-day, — betray'd  to-morrow  ! 

"  What  see  I,  in  that  heart  of  thine  ? 

There's  not  a  flower  that  blooms  above  thee, 
But  there  its  image  glows  like  mine, 

Yet, — false  and  light !  you  say  you  love  me ! 


76  THE  FLOWER  AND  BROOK. 

"  Go — changeful  rover  ! — wander  free, 
With  sunny  glance,  and  voice  beguiling, 

And  take  my  fondest  sigh  with  thee, 

To  boast  where  other  flowers  are  smiling ! 

"  Go  !  tell  the  lily  and  the  rose, 

Of  all  the  incense  lavish'd  o'er  thee  ! 

Go — wake  them  from  their  pure  repose, 
And  bid  them  waste  their  blushes  for  thee  ! 

"  Go  !  breathe  to  them  the  music  low, 
Which  all  too  oft  beguiles  the  blossom  ! 

But  oh  !  remember,  where  you  go, 
My  latest  breath  was  on  your  bosom !" 


THE  STAR  AND  THE  FLOWER.  77 


THE   STAR  AND  THE  FLOWER; 
OR,  THE  TWO  PETS. 


1  Ad  ogni  uccello, 
Suo  nido  6  bello." 


AH  .  yours,  with  her  light-waving  hair, 
That  droops  to  her  shoulders  of  snow, 

And  her  cheek,  where  the  palest  and  purest  of  roses 
Most  faintly  and  tenderly  glow  ! 

There  is  something  celestial  about  her ; 

I  never  behold  the  fair  child, 
Without  thinking  she's  pluming  invisible  wings 

For  a  region  more  holy  and  mild. 

There  is  so  much  of  pure  seraph-fire 

Within  the  dark  depths  of  her  eye, 
That  I  feel  a  resistless  and  earnest  desire 

To  hold  her  for  fear  she  should  fly. 


78       THE  STAR  AND  THE  FLOWER. 

Her  smile  is  as  soft  as  a  spirit's, — 

As  sweet  as  a  bird's  is  her  tone  ; 
She  is  fair  as  the  silvery  star  of  the  morn, 

When  it  gleams  thro'  the  gray  mist  alone. 

But  mine  is  a  simple  wild-flower, 

A  balmy  and  beautiful  thing, 
That  glows  with  new  love  and  delight  every  hour, 

Thro'  the  tears  and  the  smiles  of  sweet  spring  ! 

Her  eyes  have  the  dark  brilliant  azure 
Of  heaven  in  a  clear  summer  night, 

And  each  impulse  of  frolicsome,  infantine  joy, 
Brings  a  shy  little  dimple  to  light. 

Her  young  soul  looks  bright  from  a  brow 
Too  fair  for  earth's  sorrow  and  shame  ; 

Her  graceful  and  glowing  lip  curls,  even  now, 
With  a  spirit  no  tyrant  can  tame. 

Then  let  us  no  longer  compare 

These  tiny,  pet-treasures  of  ours  ; 
For  yours  shall  be  loveliest  still  of  the  stars, 

And  mine  shall  be  fairest  of  flowers. 


TO  A  FRIEND.  79 


TO  A  FRIEND. 

OH,  no  !  never  deem  her  less  worthy  of  love, 
That  once  she  has  trusted,  and  trusted  in  vain ! 

Could  you  turn  from  the  timid  and  innocent  dove, 
If  it  flew  to  your  breast  from  a  savage's  chain  ? 

She  too  is  a  dove,  in  her  guileless  affection, 
A  child  in  confiding  and  worshipping  truth ; 

Half  broken  in  heart,  she  has  flown  for  protection 
To  you, — will  you  chill  the   sweet  promise  of 
youth  1 

To  a  being  so  fragile,  affection  is  life  ! 

A  rosebud,  unbless'd  by  a  smile  from  above, 
When  with  bloom  and  with  fragrance  its  bosom  is 
rife — 

A  bee  without  sweets — she  must  perish  or  love  ! 


80  TO  A  FRIEND. 


You  have  heard  of  those  magical  circles  of  flowers, 
Which  in  places  laid  waste  by  the  lightning  are 

found ; 
Where  they  say  that  the  fairies  have  charm'd  the 

night  hours, 

With    their    luminous    footsteps     enriching    the 
ground. 

Believe  me — the  passion  she  cherish'd  of  yore, 
That  brought,  like  the  storm-flash,  at  once  on  its 
wing 

Destruction  and  splendor,  like  that  hurried  o'er, 
And  left  in  its  track  but  the  wild  fairy-ring, — 

All  rife  with  fair  blossoms  of  fancy  and  feeling, 
And   hope,  that  spring  forth  from  the  desolate 

gloom, 

And  whose  breath  in  rich  incense  is  softly  up-steal- 
ing, 
To  brighten  your  pathway  with  beauty  and  bloom ! 


©- 


A  TRIBUTE  OF  GRATITUDE.  81 


A  TRIBUTE   OF  GRATITUDE. 

"KNOW  ye  the  land,"   where   they    welcome   the 

stranger, 

With  heart  as  with  hand,  frank,  confiding,  sin- 
cere ; — 

Where  the  lonely,  the  languid,  the  sorrowing  ranger, 
Like   a   brother,  they  watch  over,  cherish,  and 
cheer  ? 

Where  a  smile  warm  and  radiant  everywhere  meets 

him, 
On  earth, — in  the  air, — from  the  arch  o'er  his 

head, — 
And  the  sweetest,  and  purest,  and  gayest,  that  greets 

him, 
From  the  eyes  of  its  own  merry  maidens,  is  shed  1 

"  Know  ye  the  land,"  in  which  nature  is  never 
Without   some    wild   blossom   to    twine    in    her 
hand  !— 


82  A  TRIBUTE  OF  GRATITUDE. 

In  the  hearts  of  its  children  'tis  summer  forever, — 
The  summer  of  love  and  joy  : — "  Know  ye  the 
land  ?" 

Where  the  gifted  are  met  with  a  sympathy  glow- 
ing 

As  that  which  a  diamond  yields  to  the  light, 
When  it  sends  back  the  smile  of  the  sunbeam,  be- 
stowing 

New  brilliance   and    bloom    on    the   messenger 
bright  ? 

That  land, — in  the  eyes,   in  the  souls  of   whose 

daughters 

Sleep  all  the  rich  glory  and  fire  of  its  skies, 
Subdued,   as  when  far  in  the   depth  of  the  wa- 
ters, 
To  Heaven  its  own  soften'd  image  replies  ? 

There  the  bird,  on  whose  bosom  a  rainbow  is  chang- 
ing— 

The  Nonpareil — plays  its  soft  plumage  of  blue  ; 
And    Beauty, — as   matchless, — 'mid   rare   blossoms 

ranging, 
Beams,  blushes,  and  warbles, — a  Nonpareil  too  ! 


GARDEN  GOSSIP.  83 

There  the  Lory  and  Oriole  glance  on  gay  pinion, 
There  the  regal  Magnolia's  snow-banners  wave  : — 

'Tis  the  land  of  the  high-hearted,  proud  Carolinian, 
'Tis  the  land  of  the  noble, — the  bright,  and  the 
brave  ! 


GARDEN   GOSSIP, 
Accounting  for  the  coolness  between  the  lily  and  violet. 

"  I  WILL  tell  you  a  secret !"  the  honey-bee  said, 
To  a  violet  drooping  her  dew-laden  head  ; 
"  The  lily's  in  love  !  for  she  listen'd  last  night, 
While  her  sisters  all  slept  in  the  holy  moonlight, 
To  a  zephyr  that  just  had  been  rocking  the  rose, 
Where,  hidden,  I  hearken'd  in  seeming  repose. 

"  I  would  not  betray  her  to  any  but  you ; 
But  the  secret  is  safe  with  a  spirit  so  true, 
It  will  rest  in  your  bosom  in  silence  profound." 
The  violet  bent  her  blue  eye  to  the  ground  ; 


84  GARDEN  GOSSIP. 

A  tear  and  a  smile  in  her  loving  look  lay, 

While  the  light-winged  gossip  went  whirring  away. 

"  I  will  tell  you  a  secret !"  the  honey-bee  said, 

And  the  young  lily  lifted  her  beautiful  head  ; 

"  The  violet  thinks,  with  her  timid  blue  eye, 

To  pass  for  a  blossom  enchantingly  shy, 

But  for  all  her  sweet  manners,  so  modest  and  pure, 

She  gossips  with  every  gay  bird  that  sings  to  her. 

"  Now  let  me  advise  you,  sweet  flower !  as  a  friend, 
Oh  !  ne'er  to  such  beings  your  confidence  lend ; 
It  grieves  me  to  see  one,  all  guileless  like  you, 
Thus  wronging  a  spirit  so  trustful  and  true  : 
But  not  for  the  world,  love,  my  secret  betray  !" 
And  the  little  light  gossip  went  buzzing  away. 

A  blush  in  the  lily's  cheek  trembled  and  fled ; 

"  I'm  sorry  he  told  me,"  she  tenderly  said  ; 

"  If  I  mayn't  trust  the  violet,  pure  as  she  seems, 

I  must  fold  in  my  own  heart  my  beautiful  dreams !" 

Was  the  mischief   well  managed?    Fair  lady,  is't 

true? 
Did  the  light  garden  gossip  take  lessons  of  you  ? 


O 


DOUBTFUL  VOWS.  85 


DOUBTFUL  VOWS. 


"  BY  the  starlight  of  thine  eye, 
By  thy  soft  cheek's  changing  dye, 
By  the  dimple  dancing  out, 
Peeping,  playing  round  about, 
'Mid  the  roses — like  a  sprite 
In  a  garden  of  delight — " 

"  Vow  not  thou  by  radiant  eyes, 
Lo  !  in  tears  their  glory  dies  ; 
Nor  by  youth's  enchanting  flower, 
Roses  die  when  summer's  o'er  ; 
Nor  by  dimples  that  must  hide 
Soon  as  Sorrow  comes  to  chide." 

"  By  the  graceful  waving  braid, 
Half  in  light  and  half  in  shade, 


86  DOUBTFUL  VOWS. 

Glittering  gold  or  glossy  brown, 
From  thy  forehead  floating  down  ; 
By  the  neck  it  makes  more  white 
With  its  kisses  soft  and  light—" 

•*  Vow  not  thou  by  gleams  of  gold 
Braided  in  a  tress's  fold  ; 
Time  will  chase  the  light  away, 
Time  will  change  the  gold  to  gray  ; 
Vow  not  thou  by  tints  of  snow, 
Age  will  dim  their  virgin  glow. 

"  Vow  by  something  holier  far 
Than  the  charms  of  girlhood  are  ; 
Else,  when  rose  and  ray  are  fled, 
And  the  ringlet's  gloss  is  dead, — 
Lost  the  dimple — dim  the  hue, 
Thy  light  vows  will  alter  too." — 

"  By  the  soul  that  fills  thy  face 
With  its  own  immortal  grace, 
Tuning  glance,  and  step,  and  tone 
Into  music  all  its  own, 
Hallowing  all  thy  grief  and  glee — 
By  thy  soul,  I  love  but  thee  !" 


87 


EARL  ALBERT'S  BIRD. 
A  SCOTCH  SONG. 

A  GOWDEN  cage  Earl  Albert  had, 
A  peerless  bird  he  kept  within  it ; 

A  bird  o'  beauty  rare  and  glad, 

But  'twas  na  robin,  finch,  or  linnet. 

Earl  Albert  hung  his  cage  wi'  flowers, 
Wi'  gems  and  silken  gauds  he  deck'd  it, 

And  siller  locks  upon  the  doors — 

"  'Twould  fly,"  said  he,  "  I  maun  protect  it !" 

Earl  Albert  thought  his  bird  was  tame, 
Because  its  sang  was  saft  an'  tender, — 

And  Luti  was  its  winsome  name, 

And  it  was  robed  wi'  jewell'd  splendor. 


88 


The  bonnie  bird  !  its  radiant  eyes, 
Its  tones  o'  luve  sae  wildly  pleading, 

The  passer-by  were  more  than  wise 

Gin  he  could  pass  unharm'd — unheeding. 

And  unco  weel  he  luved  his  pet, 
And  mickle  care  he  had  to  guard  it, 

For  oh !  its  glancing  eyes  o'  jet 

Still  watch'd  the  door  altho'  he'd  barr'd  it. 

"  Ah  !  gin  you  luve  me,  let  me  go 

And  I'll  come  back !"  sae  warbled  Luti. 

"  Nay  !  cauld  without  the  wind  doth  blow, 
Ye're  safer  in  your  cage,  my  beauty." 

Just  then  a  bairn  cam  tripping  nigh, 

Wi'  Iris  wing  and  gowden  quiver, 
He  waited  till  the  earl  went  by, 

Then  cried,  "Til  settle  that  forever !" 

Like  lightning  sped  the  sun-tipp'd  shaft, 

The  white  breast  heaved — the  saft  wings  flut- 
ter'd, 

While  saucy  Luve  delighted  laugh'd — 

"  She'll  soon  break  prison  now,"  he  mutter'd. 


THE  TALISMAN.  89 


Earl  Albert  cam  when  morning  shone, 
New  dainties  for  his  darling  bringing ; 

The  door  was  wide  !  the  bird  was  flown  ! 
And  thus  afar  he  heard  her  singing — 

"  Oh !  gin  ye'd  ruled  by  luve  alane, 
And  gin  ye'd  left  me  free  to  fly,  sir, 

Save  by  yer  leave  I  had  na  gane, 

But  tyrants'  bars  I  break  or  die,  sir !" 


THE    TALISMAN. 

MY  darling  child !  beside  my  knee 

She  lingers,  pleading  low 
For  "  just  one  more  sweet  fairy  tale, 

And  then  I'll  let  you  go  !" 

"  So  listen,  dear,  and  I  will  tell 

How  once  to  man  was  given, 
An  instrument  so  heavenly  sweet 

'Twas  thought  it  came  from  Heaven. 

8* 


90  THE  TALISMAN. 


"  So  daintily  its  strings  were  wrought, 

So  exquisitely  fine, 
A  breath  from  Him  who  made,  could  break 

The  talisman  divine. 

"  So  prompt,  too,  with  its  eloquent  tones, 

This  rare  device  they  say, 
That,  without  touch  of  human  hands, 

A  wish  could  bid  it  play ! 

"  In  radiant  Eden  first  'twas  heard, 

Harmonious,  mild,  and  clear  ; 
And  at  the  sound,  each  singing-bird 

Its  warble  hush'd,  to  hear. 

"  From  thence,  with  varying  melody, 

But  never  with  a  tone 
So  pure,  so  free,  as  then  it  had, 

It  pass'd  from  sire  to  son. 

"  And  now,  in  murmurs  soft  and  low 

As  rippling  rills,  it  sang, 
And  now  with  wild,  impassioned  flow, 

Its  clarion-music  rang ! 


THE  TALISMAN.  91 


"  If  Love  or  Pity  tuned  the  string, 

Or  Memory  ask'd  its  aid, 
Sweet,  pleading  notes,  the  charmed  thing 

In  tender  cadence  play'd. 

"  If  Anger  touch'd  the  quivering  chords 

With  trembling  hand  of  fire, 
What  demon-tones — what  burning  words 

Resounded  from  the  lyre  ! 

"  But  oh  !  when  soft  Forgiveness  came, 
And  o'er  the  discord  sigh'd, — 

How  like  an  angel's  lute  of  love 
That  fairy  lyre  replied  ! 

"  A  fearful  power  the  gift  possess'd, 

A  power  for  good  or  ill ; — 
Each  passion  of  the  human  breast 

Could  sweep  the  strings  at  will. 

"  And  it  could  melt  to  softest  tears, 

Or  madden  into  crime, 
The  hearts  that  heard  its  thrilling  strains, 

Wild,  plaintive,  or  sublime. 


92  THE  TALISMAN. 


"  The  oath  within  the  murderer's  heart, 
Fair  childhood's  sinless  prayer, 

Hope's  eager  sigh,  Affection's  vow, 
All  found  an  echo  there  ! 

"  What  pity,  that  a  gift  so  rich, 

Attuned  by  love  divine, 
Was  thus  profaned  by  impious  man, 

At  Guilt's  unhallow'd  shrine  !" 

Her  eyes  in  innocent  wonder  raised, 

As  gravely  still  I  spoke  ; 
The  child  into  my  face  had  gazed, 

But  now  the  pause  she  broke  : — 

"  Oh !  were  it  mine,  that  wondrous  toy, 
That  but  a  wish  could  wake  ! 

Mamma,  'twould  be  my  pride,  my  joy, 
Soft  melody  to  make ! 

"  The  evil  spirits,  tempting  youth, 
Should  ne'er  approach  my  treasure, 

I'd  keep  it  pure  for  Love,  for  Truth, 
For  Pity,  Hope,  and  Pleasure  ! 


THE  TALISMAN.  93 


"  And  they  should  play  so  blest  a  strain 

Upon  th'  enchanted  lyre, 
That  Heaven  would  claim  it  back  again, 

To  join  its  own  sweet  choir." 

"  Keep,  keep,  my  child,  that  promise  still, 

*  The  wondrous  toy'  is  thine  ! 
E'en  now  thy  spirit  tuned  it ; — 'tis 

"  The  human  voice  divine ! 

"  Oh  !  ask  of  Heaven  to  teach  thy  tongue 

A  true,  a  reverent  tone, — 
Full  oft  attuned  to  praise  and  prayer, 

And  still  to  vice  unknown  ! 

"  And  rather  be  it  mute  for  aye, 

Than  yield  its  music  sweet 
To  Malice,  Scorn,  Impurity, 

To  Slander,  or  Deceit ! 

"  Degrade  not  thou  the  instrument 

That  God  has  given  to  thee, 
But,  till  its  latest  breath  be  spent, 

Let  Conscience  keep  the  key  /" 


"LOVE  WILL  NOT  STAY  TO  BE  WEIGHED.' 


THE  maiden  in  doubt, 

Said  to  Love  with  a  pout, 
"  I  shall  weigh  you  with  Wealth  ere  I  take  you  !" 

"  Ah  !"  said  Cupid,  "  take  care  ! 

Little  Beauty,  beware  ! 
Lest  Love  should  forever  forsake  you  !" 

She  toss'd  back  her  curls, 

Braided  lightly  with  pearls, — 
"  So  saucy,  young  sir  ?  I  defy  you  !" 

Then  in  one  scale  she  roll'd 

Half  a  million  of  gold, — 
"  Come  hither,  you  rogue  !  let  me  try  you  !" 

Love  sigh'd  and  Love  smiled, 
Love's  a  singular  child  ; 
"  Come,  come  now  !  jump  in  !"  said  the  maid ; 


ELLEN  ARDELLE.  95 

But  she  coax'd  him  in  vain ; 
For  he  flew  from  her  chain, 
Singing — "  Love  will  not  stay  to  be  weigh'd  !" 

Then,  since  my  heart's  offer 
With  Wealth's  shining  coffer 

You  balance, — remember,  fair  maid  ! 

It  were  idle — 'twere  naught — 
It  were  not  worth  a  thought, 

The  love  that  would  stay  to  be  weigh'd  ! 


ELLEN  ARDELLE. 


THERE  were  music  and  mirth  in  the  lighted  saloon ; 
The  measure  was  merry, — our  hearts  were  in  tune, — 
While  hand  link'd  with  hand  in  the  graceful  qua- 
drille, 

Bright  joy  crown'd  the  dance,  like  the  sun  on  the  rill, 
And  beam'd  in  the  dark  eyes  of  many  a  belle  ; 
But  the  star  of  the  ball-room  was  Ellen  Ardelle  ! 


96  ELLEN  ARDELLE. 

She  tripp'd  with  the  grace  of  a  wild  forest  fawn, 
Her  locks  wore  the  soft  amber  glow  of  the  dawn, 
Her  cheek,  the  rich  flush  of  a  sunset  in  May, 
And  pure — like  the  star-light — her  eyes'  azure  ray ; 
Light,  light  as  a  feather  her  fairy  foot  fell ; 
Oh !  vision  of  loveliness  !  Ellen  Ardelle  ! 

There   are   hundreds  as  brilliant,  as  graceful   and 

fair ; 

But  who,  with  so  touching,  so  winning  an  air  ? 
When  softly  she  raises  those  eyes  of  deep  blue, 
What  soul  can  resist  them  ? — I  cannot, — can  you  ? 
Ah  !  light  heart !  beware  the  bewildering  spell 
That  lurks  'neath  the  lashes  of  Ellen  Ardelle ! 

No  jewel  she  needs,  her  young  beauty  to  light ; 
Her  glance  would  out-glow  it,  if  ever  so  bright. 
Her  blush  is  all  feeling, — her  smile  is  all  love  ; 
She  is  tender  and  faithful,  and  pure  as  the  dove  ; 
But  timid  and  wild,  like  a  mountain  gazelle, — 
What  fond  hand  shall  tame  her, — Young  Ellen  Ar- 
delle ? 


ZULEIKA.  97 


zmVETTTA. 
FROM  THE  SPANISH. 

A  LADY  in  a  light  caique, 

Abdallah's  youngest  daughter, 
With  Love's  blush-rose  upon  her  cheek, 

Look'd  o'er  the  moonlit  water. 

Her  snow-soft  hand  in  Selim's  lay, 

Her  heart  was  wildly  beating, 
But  still  her  dark  eyes  turn'd  away 

To  watch  the  shore  retreating. 

"  Nay,  look  not  there,  my  trembling  dove !" 
Young  Selim  cried  in  sorrow, — 

"  My  bride  to-night,  by  Allah,  love, 
I'll  bear  thee  back  to-morrow  !" 


98  ZULEfKA. 


"  Too  late  !"  the  lady  sigh'd,  "  oh  !  now, 

If  thou  dost  prize  Zuleika, 
Turn  back  ! — point  home  thy  shallop's  prow, 

Ere  those  forsaken  seek  her  ! 

"  When  first  my  lips  their  light  assent 

To  this  light  folly  falter'd, 
Love,  only  Love,  his  rainbow  lent, 

And  still  it  smiles  unalter'd. 

"  But  oh  !  thro'  tears  of  grief  and  shame 
It  glows  ;  turn  back,  my  bravest ! 

And  blessings  from  Abdallah  claim, 
For  her  whose  truth  thou  savest !" 

Young  Selim  bent  his  lightning  eyes 
Back  o'er  the  wild,  blue  water, — 

With  quivering  lip  he  thus  replies, 
To  old  Abdallah's  daughter  : — 

"  Tis  done,  Zuleika  !  lo  !  we  turn, 

But  never  dream  of  Heaven 
So  fair  to  Moslem's  eye  did  burn, 

As  that  which  thou  hast  riven  !" 


LOVE  AND   LOGIC.  99 


At  fierce  Abdallah's  feet  they  knelt, 
And  own'd  the  vows  they'd  plighted 

His  soften'd  heart  the  story  felt, 
His  hand  their  hands  united. 

And  long  did  Selim  bless  the  hour 
That  saw  his  Moorish  beauty, 

So  meekly  lay  love's  passion-flower 
Upon  the  shrine  of  duty ! 


LOVE  AND  LOGIC. 

THE  gods  one  day  sent  Reason  out, 
To  look  for  Love, — their  truant-boy  ! 

They  bade  her  seek  him  all  about, 

And  lure  him  home  with  tempting  toy. 

She  found  him  in  a  rosebud  rock'd, 
She  begg'd  him  to  be  back  in  season ; 

But  still  the  boy  the  maiden  mock'd, 
For — Love  will  never  list  to  Reason  ! 


100  LOVE  AND  LOGIC. 

The  goddess  held  a  jewel  up, 

With  Heaven's  own  glory  flashing  thro'  it ; 
"  Nay  !  see  my  Rose's  blushing  cup  !" 

Said  Love, — "  Your  gem  is  nothing  to  it !" 

"  For  shame  !  false  boy !  must  force  be  tried  ? 

Is't  thus  you  waste  this  precious  season  1" 
"  Take  care  !  d'ye  know  this  bow  ?"  he  cried ! 

Ah !  Love  too  oft  has  conquered  Reason  ! — 

"  I  see  your  aim ! — your  rhetoric  speeds 
On  proud  Olympus  ill  without  me  ; 

But  happy  Love  no  Reason  needs  ! 

Begone  !  and  when  they  ask  about  me, 

"  Just  tell  them,  in  my  Rose's  heart 
I've  found  so  dear — so  pure  a  treasure, 

I  grudge  them  not  Minerva's  art, 

Or  laughing  Hebe's  cup  of  pleasure !" 

The  maid  had  not  a  word  to  say, — 

She  knew  the  rogue  was  talking  treason, — 

But  back  to  Ida  bent  her  way  ; 

For — Love  can  better  plead  than  Reason  ! 


TO  LITTLE  MAY  VINCENT.  101 


TO   LITTLE    MAY  VINCENT. 

MY  wee-bit,  bonny,  blue-eyed  May  ! 

Well  fits  the  name  we  gave  in  play ; 

For  Spring,  with  all  her  tears  and  smiles, 

Her  frolic  frowns  and  wooing  wiles, 

Is  just  like  thee — so  fresh,  so  bright, 

With  breath  of  balm  and  eyes  of  light. 

My  treasure,  May  !  my  nestling  dove  ! 

My  wild-flower,  nursed  by  Hope  and  Love ! 

My  sunlit  gem  !  my  morning  star ! 

Oh  !  there  is  nothing  near  or  far, 

Of  soft  or  beautiful  or  free, 

That  does  not  mind  my  heart  of  thee. 

Yet  all  combined, — star,  blossom,  bird, 

Bring  to  it  no  such  joy  divine, 
As  the  first  charily-utter'd  word 

That  falters  from  those  lips  of  thine. 

9* 


Q) 


102  TO  LITTLE  MAY  VINCENT. 

Twelve  times  the  maiden-queen  of  night 
Has  donn'd  her  veil  of  silver  light, 
And  walk'd  the  silent,  heavenly  plain, 
Majestic  'mid  her  radiant  train, 
Since  May  first  ope'd  her  playful  eyes  ; 
And  yet  she  is  not  over-wise  ; 
For  even  now  she  shouts  with  joy 

When  on  the  floor  the  sunshine  plays, 
And  deems  the  spot  a  golden  toy, 

And  creeps  to  lift  its  mocking  rays. 

Ah,  May !  be  still  a  child  in  this, 
Through  life,  amid  its  gloom  and  bliss, 
Though  clouds  of  care  be  all  about, 
Those  eyes  will  find  the  sunshine  out, 
Then  pass  the  shade  with  Hope's  delight, 
And  stop  to  play  where  Joy  is  bright. 


<  ! 


A  SONG.  103 


A  SONG. 

BRAID  not  the  jewel, 
Love,  in  thy  hair ! 

For  such  adornment 
Thou  art  too  fair. 

Suits  not  the  diamond 

Tresses  so  light, 
Floating  like  golden  mist, 

Changefully  bright. 

Weave  its  wild  lustre 
Thro'  the  dark  braids, 

Whose  raven  cluster 
Helen's  eye  shades ! 

There  will  its  splendor 

Fittingly  play  ; 
Thou  art  too  tender 

For  such  array. 


104  A  SONG. 


Take  this  white  rose,  love, 

Stainless  as  thou, 
Let  it  repose,  love, 

By  thy  fair  brow ! 

And  as  its  fragrance 

Softly  steals  by, 
Sweet  as  thy  balmy  breath, 

Pure  as  thy  sigh, 

Think  of  the  lover, 
In  whose  fond  sight, 

No  gem  of  Ophir 
Makes  thee  more  bright ! 


SHE  LOVES  HIM  YET."         105 


"SHE  LOVES  HIM  YET!" 


SHE  loves  him  yet ! 
I  know  by  the  blush  that  rises 

Beneath  the  curls 
That  shadow  her  soul-lit  cheek ; 

She  loves  him  yet ! 
Thro'  all  Love's  sweet  disguises 

In  timid  girls, 
A  blush  will  be  sure  to  speak. 

But  deeper  signs 
Than  the  radiant  blush  of  beauty, 

The  maiden  finds, 
Whenever  his  name  is  heard  ; — 

Her  young  heart  thrills, 
Forgetting  herself — her  duty — 

Her  dark  eye  fills, 
And  her  pulse  with  hope  is  stirr'd. 


106 


She  loves  him  yet ! 
The  flower  the  false  one  gave  her 

When  last  he  came, 
Is  still  with  her  wild  tears  wet. 

She'll  ne'er  forget, 
Howe'er  his  faith  may  waver, 

Thro'  grief  and  shame, 
Believe  it — she  loves  him  yet ! 

His  favorite  songs 
She  will  sing — she  heeds — no  other ; 

With  all  her  wrongs 
Her  life  on  his  love  is  set. 

Oh !  doubt  no  more  ! 
She  never  can  wed  another  : 

Till  life  be  o'er, 
She  loves — she  will  love  him  yet ! 


THE  LILY'S  REPLY.  107 


THE   LILY'S  REPLY. 

THE  Rose-queen  to  a  Lily  said, — 
"  You  bashful  thing !  hold  up  your  head ! 
Since  Heaven  has  lavish'd  beauty,  grace, 
And  fragrance,  on  your  form  and  face, 
Why  waste  it  on  the  coarse  dull  earth  ? 
Look  up  to  Him  who  gave  you  birth. 
See  me  !  I  lift  my  glowing  cheek, 
The  holiest  airs  of  heaven  to  seek. 

"  Free  from  my  *  heart  of  heart'  I  give, 

(The  Rose  with  Shakspeare  held  commune,) 

Up  to  yon  skies  that  bade  me  live, 
My  incense,  like  a  low-breathed  tune. 

Lily  !  look  up  !  'tis  pleasant  weather  ! 

Let's  brave  this  changing  world  together !" 

The  Lily  to  the  Rose  replied, — 
"  I  dare  not  hold  so  lofty  pride  : 


©== 

108 


Befits  in  fair,  as  stormy  weather, 

That  I  and  Meekness  bend  together ; 

For  they  who  lift  too  high  their  heads, 

When  Heaven  her  sunshine  o'er  them  sheds, 

Too  iow  beneath  the  tempest  lie, 

Forgetful  of  Love's  sleepless  eye. 

And  He  who  gave  me  sweetness — grace, 

Bestow'd  as  well  my  fitting  place  ; 

And  most  I  show  my  grateful  care, 

By  yielding  earth  what  I  may  spare  ; 

And  best  to  Hirn  his  gifts  return, 

By  shedding  round  me,  here  below, 
The  wealth  that  fills  my  fragile  urn  ; 

He  knows  how  true  I  thank  Him  so !" 


"HAPPY  AT  HOME.' 


LET  the  gay  and  the  idle  go  forth  where  they  will, 
In  search  of  soft  Pleasure,  that  syren  of  ill ; 
Let  them  seek  her  in  Fashion's  illumined  saloon, 
Where  Melody  mocks  at  the  heart  out  of  tune  ; 


109 


Where  the  laugh  gushes  light  from  the  lips  of  the 

maiden, 
While  her  spirit,  perchance,  is  with  sorrow  o'erla- 

den  ; 

And  where,  'mid  the  garlands  Joy  only  should  braid, 
Is  Slander,  the  snake,  by  its  rattle  betray'd, 
Ah  !  no  !  let  the  idle  for  happiness  roam, 
For  me — I  but  ask  to  be  happy  at  home !" 

At  home  !  oh,  how  thrillingly  sweet  is  that  word  ! 
And  by  it  what  visions  of  beauty  are  stirr'd  ! 
I  ask  not  that  Luxury  curtain  my  room 
With  damask  from  India's  exquisite  loom  ; 
The  sunlight  of  heaven  is  precious  to  me, 
And  muslin  will  veil  it  if  blazing  too  free  ; 
The  elegant  trifles  of  Fashion  and  Wealth 
I  need  not — I  ask  but  for  comfort  and  health  ! 
With  these  and  my  dear  ones — I  care  not  to  roam, 
For,  oh  !  I  am  happy,  most  "  happy  at  home  !" 

One  bright  little  room  where  the  children  may  play, 
Unfearful  of  spoiling  the  costly  array ; 
Where  he,  too — our  dearest  of  all  on  the  earth, 
May  find  the  sweet  welcome  he  loves  at  his  hearth ; 

10 


110 


The  fire  blazing  warmly — the  sofa  drawn  nigh  ; 
And  the  star-lamp  alight  on  the  table  close  by ; 
A  few  sunny  pictures  in  simple  frames  shrined, 
A  few  precious  volumes — the  wealth  of  the  mind ; 
And  here  and  there  treasured  some  rare  gem  of  art, 
To  kindle  the  fancy  or  soften  the  heart ; 
Thus  richly  surrounded,  why,  why  should  I  roam  1 
Oh  !  am  I  not  happy — most  "  happy  at  home  1" 

The  little  ones,  weary  of  books  and  of  play, 
Nestle  down  on  our  bosoms — our  Ellen  and  May ! 
And  softly  the  simple,  affectionate  prayer, 
Ascends  in  the  gladness  of  innocence  there  ; 
And  now  ere  they  leave  us,  sweet  kisses  and  light 
They  lavish,  repeating  their  merry  "  good-night !" 
While  I  with  my  needle,  my  book,  or  my  pen, 
Or  in  converse  with  him,  am  contented  again, 
And  cry — "  Can  I  ever  be  tempted  to  roam, 
While    blessings    like    these  make  me   happy  at 
home  V 


HAPPINESS  LOST  AND  FOUND.  Ill 


HAPPINESS   LOST  AND  FOUND. 

OUR  cot  was  in  a  forest  glade, 

Where  sunbeams  stole  to  mock  the  shade, 

And  wild-flowers  round  the  lattice  play'd, 

By  beam  and  breeze  caress'd  : 
And  in  our  Mary's  form  and  face 
Was  all  the  blossom's  glowing  grace ; 
A  lovely  human  flower  was  she  ; 
Nay,  more  a  bird  in  tireless  glee, 

The  darling  of  the  nest ! 
She  came  an  orphan  to  our  wild ; 
But  fondly  on  her  kinsman's  child 
My  mother  her  true  welcome  smiled, 

And  so  our  home  was  blest. 

Yet  I,  alas  !  unconscious  then 
How  rich  within  our  woodland  glen 


112  HAPPINESS  LOST  AND  FOUND. 

Were  we,  afar  from  world-worn  men, 
For  gaudier  pleasures  pined  : 

For  I  had  seen,  in  dreams  at  night, 

A  being  lovely  as  the  light, 

With  eyes  like  heaven,  of  changeful  blue, 

And  hair  that  gleams  of  gold  stole  through, 
And  lips  in  dimples  shrined. 

Her  name  was  Happiness,  she  said  ; 

And  soon  by  blind  Ambition  led, 

I  left  our  lowly  love-warm'd  shed, 
To  seek  this  maiden  kind. 

I  sought  her  far — I  sought  her  wide — 
I  sought  her  in  the  halls  of  pride  ; 
Her  angel  smile  was  still  denied, 

Where  gems  less  lovely  shone. 
I  ask'd  of  Fame  her  fairest  crown  : — 
With  mocking  laugh  she  cast  it  down. 
No  spell  was  in  the  wreath,  tho'  fair, 
To  win  the  maid  with  golden  hair  ; 

And  I  was  all  alone. 
I  ask'd  of  Wealth  his  coffers'  key  : 
He  smiled,  and  flung  them  wide  to  me, 
The  glittering  treasure,  far  and  free, 

I  lavish'd. — Soon  'twas  flown. 


HAPPINESS  LOST  AND  FOUND.  113 

It  bought  me  rank ; — it  bought  me  power  ; — 
It  bought  me  Pleasure's  fleeting  flower, 
And  many  a  plaything  of  an  hour  : 

Ah,  me  !  'twas  little  worth  ! 
It  could  not  buy  that  being  fair, 
The  vision  with  the  shining  hair  ; 
No  !  far  from  me  her  low  sweet  lay 
Young  Joy  was  warbling  all  the  day, 

While  I  o'er  half  the  earth 
Went  wandering  for  her  looks  of  light. 
At  length  I  wearied  of  the  sight 
Of  palace-halls.     I  dream'd  one  night 

Of  her  who  gave  me  birth. 

And  coldly  on  the  morrow-morn, 
With  sorrow  in  my  soul  and  scorn, 
I  sought  the  glen  where  I  was  born, — 

How  holy  seem'd  the  air  ! 
The  wild-flower  with  its  early  glow 
Still  lightly  laced  the  lattice  low ; 
Still  sang  the  rill ; — the  forest  trees 
Bent  as  of  old  beneath  the  breeze, 

And  all  was  free  and  fair. 
The  Zephyr  with  its  breath  of  balm, 
The  sunshine  smiling  soft  and  calm, 

10* 


114  HAPPINESS  LOST  AND  FOUND. 

Wrought  in  my  very  heart  a  charm, 
And  made  it  Summer  there. 

*      Some  dreamy  moments  pass'd  before 
My  trembling  hand  unlatch'd  the  door, 
And  T  beneath  that  roof  once  more 

Stood  silent  with  delight. 
My  mother  welcomed  back  her  boy  ; 
My  bashful  Mary  blush'd  her  joy  ; 
And  folding  to  my  heart  the  prize 
That  now  seem'd  dearest  in  mine  eyes, 

And  loveliest  and  most  bright, 
I  saw  again  the  vision  fair, 
The  maiden  with  the  radiant  hair ; 
For  Joy  and  I  had  parted  there, 

As  there  we  met  that  night ! 

Ah  !  many  a  youth  will  search  like  me, 
Will  roam  the  land  and  cross  the  sea 
In  quest  of  Happiness,  while  she 

Sits  all  the  while  unseen 
Beside  the  very  hearth  he  leaves, 
And  there  her  golden  web  she  weaves, 
Perchance  array 'd  in  lowly  guise, 


KEEP,  KEEP  THE  MAIDEN'S   DOWRY.         115 

But  still  with  heaven-illumined  eyes, 

And  frank  and  smiling  mien. 
We  fondest  prize  the  gem  we  miss ; 
We  pine  for  absent  friendship's  kiss  ; 
We  know  not,  till  we  lose,  the  bliss 

That  dwells  at  home  serene. 


KEEP,  KEEP  THE  MAIDEN'S  DOWRY. 

A  DISTINGUISHED   NOBLEMAN  REFUSED  A  DOWRY  WITH  HIS  BRIDE— 
THE  INCIDENT   SUGGESTED  THE  FOLLOWING  LINES. 

KEEP,  keep  the  maiden's  dowry, 

And  give  me  but  my  bride, — 
Not  for  her  wealth  I  woo  her, 

Not  for  her  station's  pride  ; 
She  is  a  treasure  in  herself — 

Worth  all  the  world  beside. 

Is  not  her  mind  a  palace, 
Wherein  are  riches  rare, 


©) 

116       KEEP,  KEEP  THE  MAIDEN'S  DOWRY, 


Bright  thoughts  that  flash  like  jewels, 

And  golden  fancies  fair, 
And  glowing  dreams  of  joy  and  hope, 

That  make  sweet  pictures  there  ! 

Keep,  keep  my  lady's  dowry, 
Her  hand,  her  heart  I  claim  ; 

That  little  hand  is  more  to  me 
Than  power,  rank,  or  fame  ; 

That  heart's  pure  love  is  wealth,  my  lord, 
No  more  your  coffers  name  ! 

No  statue  in  your  proud  saloon 
Can  match  her  form  of  grace, 

No  gem  that  lights  your  casket 
The  radiance  of  her  face. 

In  giving  her,  you  give  me  all 
I  covet  in  earth's  space. 

Oh  !  make  her  mine,  your  idol  child  ! 

To  be  my  prize  and  pride, 
My  star  in  every  festival, 

My  trust  should  wo  betide, 
My  bower's  loveliest  blossom, 

Mine  own,  my  worshipp'd  bride. 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  GEMS.  117 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  GEMS. 

FAIR  Flora  of  late  has  become  such  a  blue, 

She   has   sent   all   her   pretty  dumb  children  to 

school ; 
And  though  strange  it  may  seem,  what  I  tell  you  is 

true, 

Already  they've  learn'd  French  and  English  by 
rule. 

Bud,  blossom,  and  leaf,  have  been  gifted  with  speech, 
And  eloquent  lips  breathing  love  in  each  tone, 

Delighting  such  beautiful  pupils  to  teach, 

Have  lent  them  a  language  as  sweet  as  their  own. 

No  more  is  the  nightingale's  serenade  heard  ; 

For   Flora  exclaims,   as   she   flies  through  her 
bowers, 


118  THE  LANGUAGE  OF  GEMS. 

"  It  is  softer  than  warble  of  fairy  or  bird  ! 

'Tis  the  music  of  soul — the  sweet  language  of 
flowers !" 

No  longer  the  lover  impassion'd  bestows 

The  pearl  or  the  ruby ; — in  Hope's  sunny  hours 

He  twines  for  his  maiden  a  myrtle  and  rose — 
'Tis  the   echo  of  Love,  the  pure  language   of 
flowers. 

But  the  pearl  and  the  ruby  are  sadly  dismay'd  ; 

I  saw  a  fair  girl  lay  them  lightly  aside, 
And  blushingly  wreathe,  in  her  hair's  simple  braid, 

The  white  orange  flower  that  betray'd  her  a  bride ; 

And  I  fancied  I  heard  the  poor  jewels  bewail, 
At  least  they  changed  countenance  strangely,  I'm 

sure  ; 
For   the  pearl  blush'd  with  shame,  and  the  ruby 

turn'd  pale  : — 
Indeed  'twas  too  much  for  a  stone  to  endure. 

And  I,  who  had  ever  a  passion  for  gems, 

From  the  diamond's  star-smile  to  the  ruby's  deep 
flame  ; 


o  

THE  LANGUAGE  OF  GEMS.  119 

And  who  envy  kings  only  their  bright  diadems, 
Resolved  to  defend  them  from  undeserved  shame. 

What  are  jewels  but  flowers  that  never  decay, 

With  a  glow  and  a  glory  unfading  as  fair  ? 
And  why  should  not  they  speak  their  minds  if  they 

may  ? 

There  are  "  sermons  in  stones,"  as  all  sages  de- 
clare. 

And  a  wild  "  tongue  of  flame"  wags  in  some  of  them 

too, 

That  would  talk  if  you'd  let  it — so  listen  awhile  ; 
They've  a  world  of  rich  meaning  in  every  bright 

hue — 
A  ray  of  pure  knowledge  in  each  sunny  smile. 

Then  turn  to  the  blossoms  that  never  decay  : — 
Let  the  learned  flowers  talk  to  themselves  on  their 
stems, 

Or  prattle  away  with  each  other  to-day ; — 
And  listen  with  me  to  the  Language  of  Gems. 

The  Diamond  emblem  of  Genius  would  seem, 
In  its  glance,  like  the  lightning,  wild,  fitful,  divine — 

@ 


120  THE  LANGUAGE  OF  GEMS. 


Its  point  that  can  pierce,  with  a  meteor-gleam, 
Its  myriad  colors — its  shadow  and  shine. 

And  more  in  that  magic,  so  dazzling  and  strange  ; 

Let  it  steal  from  Apollo  but  one  sunny  ray, 
It  will  beam  back  a  thousand  that  deepen  and  change, 

Till  you'd  fancy  a  rainbow  within  it  at  play. 

Fair  Truth's  azure  eyes,  that  were  lighted  in  heaven, 
Have  brought  to  the  Sapphire  their  smile  from 
above, 

And  the  rich  glowing  ray  of  the  Ruby  is  given, 
To  tell  as  it  blushes  of  passionate  Love. 

The  Chrysolite,  clouded,  and  gloomy,  and  cold, 
Its  dye  from  the  dark  brow  of  Jealousy  steals, 

But  bright  in  the  Crystal's  fair  face  we  behold 
The  image  of  Candor  that  nothing  conceals. 

Young  Hope,  like  the  spring,  in  her  mantle  of  green, 
Comes   robed   in  that  color,  soft,  pleasant,  and 

tender, 
And  lends  to  the  Emerald  light  so  serene, 

That  the  eye  never  wearies  of  watching  its  splen- 
dor. 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  GEMS.  121 

The  rosy  Cornelian  resembles  the  flush 
That  faintly  illumines  a  beautiful  face, 

And  well  in  its  lovely  and  tremulous  blush 
May  Fancy  the  emblem  of  Modesty  trace. 

While  Joy's  golden  smile  in  the  Topaz  is  glowing, 
And  Purity  dwells  in  the  delicate  Pearl, 

The  Opal,  each  moment  new  semblances  showing, 
May  shine  on  the  breast  of  some  changeable  girl. 

Serene  as  the  Turquoise,  Content  ever  calm, 

In  her  pure  heart  reflects  heaven's  fairest  hue 
bright, 

While  Beauty,  exulting  in  youth's  sunny  charm, 
Beholds  in  the  Beryl  her  image  of  light. 

To  the  beaming  Carbuncle,  whose  ray  never  dies, 
The  rare  gift  of  shining  in  darkness  is  given  ; 

So  Faith,  with  her  fervent  and  shadowless  eyes, 
Looks  up,  through  Earth's  night-time  of  trouble, 
to  heaven. 

There's  a  stone — the  Asbestos — that,  flung  in  the 

flame, 

Unsullied  comes  forth  with  a  color  more  pure, — 
•  11 


@  - 

122  THE   LANGUAGE   OF  GEMS. 

Thus  shall  Virtue,  the  victim  of  sorrow  and  shame, 
Refined  by  the  trial,  forever  endure. 

Resplendent  in  purple,  the  Amethyst  sparkling, 
On  Pride's  flowing  garments  may  haughtily  glow, 

While  Jet,  the  lone  mourning-gem,  shadow'd  and 

darkling, 
And  full  of  sad  eloquence,  whispers  of  Wofc. 

But  thousands  are  burning  beneath  the  dark  wave, 
As  stars  through  the  tempest-cloud  tremblingly 
smile, 

Or  wasting  their  wealth  in  some  desolate  cave, 
And  talking,  perchance,  like  the  rest  all  the  while. 

Then  wreathe  of  the  blossoms  that  never  decay, 
A  chaplet,  dear  maiden,  that  fair  brow  above, 

But  within,  wear  their  prototypes,  purer  than  they, 
Faith — Hope — Truth  and  Innocence — Modesty — 
Love. 

And  while  in  each  jewel  a  lesson  you  see, 

While  one  smiles  approval — another  condemns, 

I'm  sure  you  will  listen,  delighted  with  me, 

To  a  language  so  true  as  the  language  of  Gems  ! 


THE  LOVER'S  LIST.  123 


THE  LOVER'S  LIST. 


"  COME,  sit  on  this  bank  so  shady, 

Sweet  Evelyn,  sit  with  me  ! 
And  count  me  your  loves,  fair  lady ! 

How  many  may  they  be  ?" 

The  maiden  smiled  on  her  lover, 
And  traced  with  her  dimpled  hand, 

Of  names,  a  dozen  and  over, 
Down  in  the  shining  sand. 

"  And  now,"  said  Evelyn,  rising, 

"  Sir  Knight !  your  own,  if  you  please  ; 

And  if  there  be  no  disguising, 
The  list  will  out-number  these. 


124  THE  LOVER'S  LIST. 

"  Then  count  me  them  truly,  rover  !" 

And  the  noble  knight  obey'd, 
And  of  names,  a  dozen  and  over 

He  traced  within  the  shade. 

Fair  Evelyn  pouted  proudly  ; 

She  sigh'd— "  Will  he  never  have  done  V 
And  at  last  she  murmur'd  loudly, 

"  I  thought  he  would  write  but  one  /" 

"  Now  read !" — said  the  gay  youth,  rising — 
"  The  scroll, — it  is  fair  and  free, 

In  truth  there  is  no  disguising, 
That  list  is  the  world  to  me  !" 

She  read  it  with  joy  and  wonder, 
For  the  first  was  her  own  sweet  name, 

And  again  and  again  written  under, 
It  was  still — it  was  still  the  same  ! 

It  began  with — "  my  Evelyn  fairest !" 
It  ended  with—"  Evelyn  best !" 

And  epithets  fondest  and  dearest 

Were  lavish'd  between  on  the  rest. — 


THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  CALLITRICHE.          125 

There  were  tears  in  the  eyes  of  the  lady 
As  she  swept,  with  her  delicate  hand, 

On  the  river-bank  cool  and  shady, 
The  list  she  had  traced  in  the  sand. 

There  were  smiles  on  the  lip  of  the  maiden 
As  she  turn'd  to  her  knight  once  more, 

And  the  heart  was  with  joy  o'erladen, 
That  was  heavy  with  doubt  before  ! 


THE  BIRTH   OF  THE   CALLITRICHE ; 
OR,   WATER-STAR. 

"  Nothing  in  them,  that  doth  range, 
But  must  suffer  a  sea-change 
Into  something  new  and  strange." — Shakspeare. 

'Tis  night — and  the  luminous  depths  of  heaven 

With  urns  of  fire  are  lit, 
Each  borne  in  a  viewless  spirit's  hand, 

Who  lightly  floats  with  it. 

11* 


@  — 

126         THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  CALLITRICHE. 

And  Dian — the  queen  of  that  graceful  train, 

Sails  by  in  her  silver  shell, 
While  softly  rises  the  choral  strain, 

With  a  rich  and  joyous  swell 

Now,  voice  by  voice  they  are  dying  away, 

Till  all  save  one  are  still, 
And  that  sings  on  with  a  cadence  glad, 

Like  the  gush  of  a  rippling  rill. 

It  comes  from  one  of  the  beauteous  seven, 

The  Pleiades  pure  and  bright, 
Who  keep  more  fondly  than  all  in  heaven, 

Unstain'd  their  urns  of  light. 

She  sings,  as  she  bends  o'er  her  burning  vase, 
And  she  sees  in  the  wave  below 

Her  beaming  smile,  and  her  form  of  grace, 
And  her  soft  hair's  golden  flow. 

But  hark  !  a  voice  from  the  waters  clear, 

And  the  Pleiad  leans  to  listen, 
With  a  glowing  cheek  and  a  charmed  ear, 

And  eyes  that  tenderly  glisten. 


THE  BIRTH  OF  THE   CALLITRICHE.          127 

"  Daughter  of  light ' 

I  pine,  I  pine, 
By  day  and  night, 

For  thy  smile  divine  ! 

"  Oh  !  radiant  maid, 

My  dwelling  share ! 
Our  nymphs  shall  braid 

Thy  shining  hair. 

"  And  I  will  keep 

Thy  star-urn  pure, 
While  thou  shalt  sleep 

In  joy  secure. 

"  Where  stately  stands 

My  coral  hall, 
On  golden  sands 

Thy  feet  shall  fall. 


"  From  rosy  shell 
Thy  rosier  lip, 

Where  dimples  dwell, 
Shall  nectar  sip  ; 


128         THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  CALLITRICHE. 

"  And  the  tremulous  play 

Of  purest  pearls. 
With  a  pale  soft  ray 

Shall  gem  thy  curls. 

"  Oh,  the  wave  is  fair 

And  mild  and  blue, 
As  the  azure  air 

Thou  wanderest  through ! 

"  Then,  loveliest  far 

Of  Atlas'  daughters, 
Bless  with  thy  star 

Our  limpid  waters !" 

Wild  and  sweet  was  the  lay  of  love, 

Upborne  on  the  balmy  air, 
And  the  Pleiad  stole  from  her  bower  above, 

To  gaze  in  the  waters  fair. 

Ah  !  fatal  gaze !  for  so  fondly  smiled 
Those  eyes  from  the  stream  below, 

She  plunged,  and  the  lamp  of  her  heavenly  life 
Went  out  in  its  vase  of  snow. 


= p 

A  MAY-DAY  SONG.  129 


But  light  to  the  element's  edge  sprang  up, 

A  starry  shape  in  bloom, 
A  strange  wild  flower  in  a  fairy  cup, 

That  shone  in  the  water's  gloom  : 

And  they  say  the  penitent  Pleiad's  tears 
Still  feed  that  star  of  the  wave, 

As  of  old  her  smiles  in  holier  spheres 
To  the  Urn  their  pure  light  gave. 


A  MAY-DAT  SONG. 

YES  !  thou  shalt  wear  the  wreath  we  are  merrily 

braiding, 

Of  buds  and  blooms — the  beautiful  roses  of  Spring ! 
Amid  the  hair,  thy  forehead  of  snow  o'ershading, 
'Twill  mock  the  blush  that  steals  to  thy  cheek  as 
we  sing. 


130  THE  PARTING. 


For  thee  we  twine  ; — for  who  could  so  gracefully 

wear  it 
As  she,  whose  heart  is  lovely  and  pure  as  the 

rose  ; 
The  wreath  is  thine,  and  the  happiness  each  of  us 

share  it, 
For  thou  art  so  meek  no  envy  can  mar  thy  repose. 


THE  PARTING. 

I  LOOK'D  not — I  sigh'd  not — I  dared  not  betray 
The  wild  storm  of  feeling  that  strove  to  have  way, 
For  I  knew  that  each  sign  of  the  sorrow  /  felt 
Her  soul  to  fresh  pity  and  passion  would  melt, 
And  calm  was  my  voice,  and  averted  my  eyes, 
As  I  parted  from  all  that  in  being  I  prize. 

I  pined  but  one  moment  that  form  to  enfold, 
Yet  the  hand  that  touch'd  hers  like  the  marble  was 
cold. — 


ASPIRATIONS.  131 


I  heard  her  voice  falter  a  timid  farewell, 

Nor  trembled,  tho'  soft  on  my  spirit  it  fell, 

And  she  knew  not — she  dream'd  not  the  anguish  of 

soul 
Which  only  my  pity  for  her  could  control. 

It  is  over, — the  loveliest  dream  of  delight 
That  ever  illumined  a  wanderer's  night ! 
Yet  one  gleam  of  comfort  will  brighten  my  way, 
Tho'  mournful  and  desolate  ever  I  stray  : 
It  is  this,  that  to  her — to  my  idol,  I  spared 
The  pang,  that  her  love  could  have  soften'd  and 
shared ! 


ASPIRATIONS. 


I  WASTE  no  more  in  idle  dreams  my  life,  my  soul 

away  ; 
I  wake  to  know  my  better  self, — I  wake  to  watch 

and  pray. 


© 


132  ASPIRATIONS. 


Thought,  feeling,  time,  on  idols  vain,  I've  lavish'd 

all  too  long : 
Henceforth  to  holier  purposes  I  pledge  myself,  my 

song! 

Oh !  still  within  the  inner  veil,  upon  the  spirit's  shrine, 
Still  unprofaned  by  evil,  burns  the  one  pure  spark 

divine 

Which  God  has  kindled  in  us  all,  and  be  it  mine  to  tend 
Henceforth  with  vestal  thought  and  care,  the  light 

that  lamp  may  lend. 

I  shut  mine  eyes  in  grief  and  shame  upon  the  dreary 

past, 
My  heart,  my  soul  pour'd  recklessly  on  dreams  that 

could  not  last. 
My  bark  has  drifted  down  the  stream,  at  will  of  wind 

or  wave, 
An  idle,  light,  and  fragile  thing,  that  few  had  cared 

to  save. 

Henceforth  the  tiller  Truth  shall  hold,  and  steer  as 

Conscience  tells, 
And  I  will  brave  the  storms  of  Fate,  tho'  wild  the 

ocean  swells. 


A  SONG.  133 


I  know  my  soul  is  strong  and  high,  if  once  I  give  it 

sway  ; 
I  feel  a  glorious  power  within,  tho'  light  I  seem  and 

gay. 

Oh  !  laggard  soul !    unclose  thine  eyes.     No  more 

in  luxury  soft 

Of  joy  ideal  waste  thyself!  awake,  and  soar  aloft ! 
Unfurl  this  hour  those  falcon  wings  which  thou  dost 

fold  too  long ; 
Raise  to  the  skies  thy  lightning  gaze,  and  sing  thy 

loftiest  song. 


A  SONG. 

I  TURN'D  from  the  monitor, — smiled  at  the  warning 
That  whisper'd  of  doubt — of  desertion  to  me  ; 

I  heard  of  thy  falsehood,  the  dark  rumor  scorning, 
I  gave  up  the  soul  of  my  soul  unto  thee  ! 

12 


o 


134  THE  "  FAIRER  FLOWER." 

Too  wildly  I  worshipp'd  thy  mind-illumed  beauty ; 

Too  fondly  I  cherish'd  my  dream  of  thy  truth  ; 
Forgetting,  in  thee,  both  my  pride  and  my  duty, 

I  made  thee  the  god  of  my  passionate  youth ! 

And  dearly  and  deeply  I  rue  that  devotion, — 

Thou  hast  broken  the  heart  that  beat  only  for  thee  ! 

Not  even  thy  voice  can  now  wake  an  emotion  ; 
I  am  calm  as  thyself  while  I  bid  thee  "  be  free  !" 


THE  "  FAIRER  FLOWER." 

"  OH  !  are  they  not  most  bright  and  fair  ? 

The  youthful  lady  cried  ; 
And  pointed  to  her  blossoms  rare 

With  playful  love  and  pride. 

The  soft  moss-rose  with  veiled  bloom, 
Droops  o'er  the  hands  that  tie  it ; 


THE  "FAIRER  FLOWER."  135 

The  lily  lends  its  light  perfume, 
The  woodbine  clusters  by  it. 

But  on  the  lady's  lovely  face, 

A  blush  out-blooms  the  rose  ; 
And  'neath  the  hand  that  clasps  the  vase, 

Less  fair  the  lily  shows. 

A  soldier  true  and  brave  was  he, 

And  crown'd  with  loftiest  honor  ; 
He  bent  his  dark  and  dauntless  eyes 

With  soften'd  gaze  upon  her — 

"  Dear  lady,  yes !  'tis  well  the  bower 

Its  loveliest  lends  to  thee, 
But  I  can  show  a  fairer  flower 

If  thou'lt  but  come  with  me  !" 

She  gave  her  hand  with  artless  grace, 
She  cross'd  the  room  half  dreaming  ; 

And  there  he  show'd  her  own  sweet  face 
Within  the  mirror  beaming  ! 


136  LENORE. 


LENORR 

OH  !  fragile  and  fair,  as  the  delicate  chalices, 
Wrought  with  so  rare  and  so  subtle  a  skill, 

Bright  relics,  that  tell  of  the  pomp  of  those  palaces, 
Venice — the  sea-goddess — glories  in  still. 

Whose  exquisite  texture,  transparent  and  tender, 
A  pure  blush  alone  from  the  ruby  wine  takes  ; 

Yet  ah  !  if  some  false  hand,  profaning  its  splendor, 
Dares  but  to  taint  it  with  poison, — it  breaks ! 

So  when  Love  pour'd  thro'  thy  pure  heart  his  light- 
ningr 

On  thy  pale  cheek  the  soft  rose-hues  awoke, — 
So  when  wild  Passion,  that  timid  heart  frightening, 

Poison'd  the  treasure— 1it  trembled  and  broke  ! 


137 


THE   SOUL'S   LAMENT   FOR  HOME. 

As  'plains  the  home-sick  ocean-shell 

Far  from  its  own  remember'd  sea, 
Repeating,  like  a  fairy  spell 

Of  love,  the  charmed  melody 
It  learn'd  within  that  whispering  wave, 

Whose  wondrous  and  mysterious  tone 
Still  wildly  haunts  its  winding  cave 

Of  pearl,  with  softest  music-moan — 

So  asks  my  home-sick  soul  below, 

For  something  loved,  yet  undefined  ; 
So  mourns  to  mingle  with  the  flow 

Of  music,  from  the  Eternal  Mind  ; 
So  murmurs,  with  its  child-like  sigh, 

The  melody  it  learn'd  above, 
To  which  no  echo  may  reply, 

Save  from  thy  voice,  Celestial  Love  ! 


12* 


138          THE   FLOWER  AND  HUMMING-BIRD. 


THE  FLOWEH  AND  THE  HUMMING-BIRD. 

WILD  and  light  as  a  fawn  in  flight, 

With  the  glee  and  the  grace  of  a  playful  child, 
She  tripp'd  to  the  hill's  unclouded  height, 

And  the  dying  day  around  her  smiled. 

Sunbeam  and  breeze  were  at  play  with  her  hair, 
(Where  a  few  wild  blossoms  were  braided  low,) 

Wooing  it  back  from  her  shoulders  fair, 
Lighting  it  up  with  a  golden  glow. 

And  lo  !  as  we  gazed  on  the  beautiful  girl 
With  the  joy  that  we  ever  from  grace  derive, 

We  saw  something  quiver  thro'  one  soft  curl, 
And  struggle  and  gleam  like  a  jewel  alive  ! 

What  can  it  be  ?     For  a  moment  or  two 
It  burn'd  with  a  brilliant  ruby-ray, 


THE  FLOWER  AND  HUMMING-BIRD.         139 

The  next,  it  shone  with  the  sapphire's  blue, 
And  now  with  the  amethyst's  purple  play ! 

What  can  it  be  f     It  is  changing  still 

To  an  emerald  tint — to  the  sunshine's  glow — 

Can  the  maiden  alter  her  gems  at  will  1 
And  gift  with  wings  each  luminous  show  ? 

With  wings — they  are  fluttering,  tiny,  and  light, 
Like  those  which  we  fancy  the  fairies  wear — 

Ah  !  look  !  the  treasure  has  taken  flight, 

'Twas   a   humming-bird   caught   in    that    golden 


Silly  rover  !  you  fly  from  those  silken  rings, 
Where  Love — a  light  prisoner — hugs  his  chain ! 

Oh,  you  never  will  shut  your  shining  wings 
On  a  flower  so  rare  and  sweet  again  ! 


140  THE  SUITOR'S  REPLY. 


THE  SUITOR'S  REPLY 

TO  THE  MAIDEN    WHO   WISHED  TO  RETURN  HIS   GIFT. 

YES  !  I  implore — upon  my  knee — 
Return  the  costly  gift  to  me  ! 
Not  that ! — the  gem,  whose  light  I  prize 
Less  than  one  smile  from  thy  dear  eyes ! 

You  say  'tis  all  too  rich  and  rare 
For  lowly  maid  like  you  to  wear, 
I've  given  you  one  more  costly  still — 
Return  me  that,  dear !  Say  you  will ! 

Its  lustre  will  outlast  the  star 
That  burns  before  us,  pure  and  far, 
Return  me  that — all  gems  above  ! 
Yes,  Margaret,  yes  !     Return — my  love  ! 


TO .  141 


TO 


THEY  told  me  Beauty  o'er  thy  face 
Had  breathed  her  rarest,  richest  spell, 

And  lightly  twined  an  airy  grace 
In  every  curl  that  round  it  fell. 

We  met — and  'neath  the  veil  of  light 
And  bloom  that  Beauty  round  thee  flung, 

I  found  a  charm  of  holier  might, 

For  Love  had  tuned  thy  heaven-taught  tongue. 

'Tis  said  in  Erin's  sunny  isle, 

That  they  who  wear  the  shamrock  leaf, 
A  blessing  bring  where'er  they  smile, 

That  lights  and  warms  the  wildest  grief. 

Hast  thou  within  thy  bosom  hid 

The  charmed  flower  from  Erin's  shore, 

Which  some  fond  fairy  found  amid 
Her  blooming  fields,  and  hither  bore  1 


142  HYMN. 


Ah,  no !  within  those  dark-blue  eyes, 

Those  graceful  words,  that  winning  smile, 

A  deeply  sweet  enchantment  lies, 
Beyond  the  spell  from  Erin's  isle ! 

Thou  dost  not  need  the  charmed  flower, 
Thou  dost  not  need  the  fairy's  art ; 

In  feeling  dwells  thy  magic  power, 
The  leaf  of  love  is  in  thy  heart  \ 


HYMN. 


APPROACH  not  the  altar 
With  gloom  in  thy  soul ; 

Nor  let  thy  feet  falter 
From  terror's  control ! 


God  loves  not  the 
Of  fear  and  mistrust : 

Oh  serve  Him  with  gladness — 
The  Gentle,  the  Just! 


HYMN.  143 


His  bounty  is  tender, 

His  being  is  Love, — 
His  smile  fills  with  splendor 

The  blue  arch  above. 

Confiding,  believing, 

Oh !  enter  always 
"  His  courts  with  thanksgiving— 

His  portals  with  praise  !" 

Nor  come  to  the  temple 
With  pride  in  thy  mien  ; 

But  lowly  and  simple, 
In  courage  serene. 

Bring  meekly  before  Him 

The  faith  of  a  child  : 
Bow  down  and  adore  him, 

With  heart  undefiled  ; 

And  "  by  the  still  waters," 
And  through  the  green  shade, 

With  Zion's  glad  daughters, 
Thy  path  shall  be  made  ! 


144  TO 


TO 

THEY  tell  me  I  was  false  to  thee, 
But  they  are  false  who  say  it ; 

The  vow  I  made  was  pure  and  free, 
And  time  shall  ne'er  betray  it. 

I  laid  my  heart  on  virtue's  shrine, 
I  loved  truth,  honor,  kindness  ; 

I  love  them  still,  I  thought  them  thine, 
Too  soon  I  wept  my  blindness. 

'Tis  thou  wert  false  to  them  and  me, 

My  worship  still  I  cherish  ; 
My  love,  still  true,  has  turn'd  from  thee, 

To  find  them  or  to  perish. 


THE  WORLD-WORN  LYRE.  145 


THE  WORLD-WORN  LYRE. 

LOVE  !  no  more,  with  soul  of  fire, 
Sweep  the  strings  and  sound  the  lyre ! 
All  too  wild  the  sad  refrain, 
When  thy  touch  awakes  the  strain. 
Thou  henceforth  must  veil  thy  face 
With  its  blush  of  childish  grace, 
Still  thy  sweet  entrancing  tone, 
Fold  thy  wings  and  weep  alone. 

Mirth !  oh  !  ne'er  again  come  thou 
With  thy  careless,  cloudless  brow, 
With  thy  frolic-fingers  flying, 
Lightly  o'er  the  lyre  replying, 
Making  music,  like  a  smile, 
Glisten  thro'  its  strings  the  while. 
Thou  and  I,  gay  sprite  !  must  part, — 
Go  thou  to  some  happier  heart ! 

Lyre  !  amid  whose  chords  my  soul, 
Lull'd,  enchanted,  proudly  stole, 


146  THE  WORLD-WORN  LYRE. 

Folly,  Vanity,  and  Mirth, 
Long  have  tuned  thy  tones  to  earth, — 
I  will  take  thee,  hush'd  and  holy, 
Changed  in  heart,  and  sad  and  lowly, 
Into  Nature's  mother-breast ; 
There  I'll  lay  thee  down  to  rest. 

There  her  harmony  shall  blend 

All  its  soul  with  thine,  sweet  friend ! 

Silent  lie  upon  her  shrine 

Till  some  spirit  more  divine, 

Mission'd  from  its  home  to  thee, 

Teach  a  holier  melody  ; 

Then,  awaked  by  airs  of  heaven, 

Be  thy  discord  all  forgiven  ! 

Meekly  let  thy  music  low 
With  creation's  chorus  flow, 
With  the  music  of  the  spheres, 
Into  listening  angels'  ears  ! 
Let,  henceforth,  thy  sweetest  lays 
Be  attuned  to  prayer  and  praise, 
And  naught  earth-born  e'er  again 
Thee,  my  pleading  lyre,  profane ! 


THE  EXILE'S  LAMENT.  149 


THE  EXILE'S  LAMENT. 

I  AM  not  happy  here,  mother  ! 

I  pine  to  go  to  you  ; 
I  weary  for  your  voice  and  smile, 

Your  love — the  fond  and  true  ! 

My  English  home  is  cold,  mother, 

And  dark  and  lonely  too  ! 
I  never  shall  be  happy  here, — 

I  pine  to  go  to  you  ! 

Full  many  a  simple  melody 

I  make  of  home  and  you  ; 
But  no  one  loves  and  sings  the  song 

As  Lizzie  used  to  do  ! 

I've  friends,  who  kindly  welcome  give, 
And  whom  I'll  ne'er  forget ; 

But  they  love  others  more  than  me, 
And  I  am  not  their  pet ! 

13* 


to) 


150  THE  EXILE'S  LAMENT. 

In  at  ray  lattice  laughs  the  sun, 

And  plays  about  my  feet ; 
I'd  welcome  it  if  you  were  here 

Its  summer  warmth  to  greet ! 

The  sky  ne'er  seems  so  blue,  mother, — 

So  balmy  soft  the  air ! 
And  oh !  the  flowers  are  not  so  pure 

As  those  I  used  to  wear  ! 

My  baby  Ellen  gaily  plays, 
But  none  are  here  to  note, 

With  partial  praise,  her  winning  ways, 
Or  catch  the  (ferns  that  float — 

The  gems  of  thought  that  sparkle  o'er 
Her  mind's  untroubled  sea  ; 

Then  vanish  in  its  depths  before 
We  well  know  what  they  be  ! 

How  oft,  when  lovelier  than  their  wont 
Her  cheeks'  pure  roses  glow, 

And  fairer  'neath  the  sunlit  hair 
Her  veined  temples  show, 


LEONOR.  151 


I  want  it  watch'd  by  other  eye, 
That  face — so  bright  to  me  ! 

And  sigh — "  If  mother  now  were  by  !" 
"  If  Lizzie  could  but  see  !" 

Oh  !  my  English  home  is  cold,  mother, 

And  dark  and  lonely  too  ! 
I  never  shall  be  happy  here, — 

I  pine  to  go  to  you  ! 

I  will  not  call  it  "  home,"  mother, 
From  those  I  love  so  far ! — 

That  only  can  be  home  to  me, 
Where  you  and  Lizzie  are. 


LEONOR. 

LEONOR  loved  a  noble  youth, 

But  light  was  Leonors  maiden  truth  ; 

She  left  her  love  for  wealth  forsooth. 

Faithless  Leonor ! 


152  LEONOR. 


Now  she  paces  a  palace-hall ; 
Lords  and  ladies  await  her  call, — 
Wearily  Leonor  turns  from  all. 

Haughty  Leonor  ! 

Leonor  lies  on  a  couch  of  down  ; 
The  jewel-light  of  a  ducal  crown 
Gleams  through  her  tresses  of  sunlit  brown. 
Beautiful  Leonor ! 

Leonor's  robe  is  a  tissue  of  gold, 
Flashing  with  splendor  in  every  fold ; 
Bracelets  of  gems  on  her  arms  are  roll'd. 

Radiant  Leonor ! 

Diamonds  sparkle  in  Leonor's  zone, 
With  a  star-like  glory  in  every  stone  ; 
But  the  heart  they  smile  over  is  cold  and  lone. 
Joyless  Leonor  ! 

To  be  free  once  more  she  would  give  them  all, — 
The  crown,  the  couch,  and  the  sculptured  hall, 
And  the  robe  with  its  rich  and  shining  fall. 

Poor,  poor  Leonor  ! 


TO  LIZZIE.  153 


Like  a  captive  bird,  through  her  cage's  bar 
Of  gold,  she  looks  on  her  home  afar, 
And  it  woos  her  there  like  a  holy  star. 

Vainly,  Leonor ! 

Leonor's  lip  has  lost  its  bloom, 
Her  proud  blue  eyes  are  dark  with  gloom  ; 
She  will  sleep  in  peace  in  her  early  tomb. 
Lonely  Leonor ! 


TO  LIZZIE. 

MINE  own  sweet  sister,  wheresoe'er  I  go 

I  hear  thy  voice  melodiously  low ; 

Thine  eyes,  thy  soft,  dark,  eloquent,  loving  eyes, 

Before  me  in  remember'd  beauty  rise  ! 

Doth  nature  robe  her  form  in  rich  array, 

Wreathing  her  brow  with  stars  for  jewels  rare  ! 

Zoning  her  waist  with  the  green  moss  of  May, 
And  broid'ring  all  her  vest  with  blossoms  fair  1 


154  TO  LIZZIE. 


Do  her  sweet  tones — sweet  as  thine  own  the  while, 
Forth  from  my  home  my  willing  feet  allure, 

To  wander  in  the  warm  light  of  her  smile, 
And  bare  my  forehead  to  her  breathing  pure  1 

I  sigh  and  think — if  thou  wert  with  me  now, 
Exulting  in  thy  youth,  and  health,  and  glee, 

How  wouldst  thou  toss  the  ringlets  from  thy  brow, 
And  join  in  all  her  joyous  revelry  ! 

How  would  thy  heart's  enthusiast  pulses  beat, 
Thy  voice  with  all  its  wealth  of  music  rise, 

Her  ever  changing  melody  to  meet, 
Love  in  thy  soul,  and  rapture  in  thine  eyes ! 

Oh  !  sweetest,  loveliest !  would  that  thou  wert  here, 
Heaven  loses  half  her  holy  light  to  me  ; 

Earth  is  ungraced  with  all  her  spring-tide  gear, 
And  life  itself  worth  little  without  thee  ! 


VICTORIA.  155 


VICTORIA, 
On  her  way  to  Guildhall. 

THEY  told  me  the  diamond-tiar  on  her  head 

Gleam'd  out  like  chain-lightning  amid  her  soft  hair, 

They  told  me  the  many-hued  glory  it  shed 

Seem'd  a  rainbow  still  playing  resplendently  there  ; 

I  mark'd  not  the  gem's  regal  lustre  the  while, 

I  saw  but  her  sunny,  her  soul-illumed  smile. 

They  told  me  the  plume  floated  over  her  face, 
Like  a  snowy  cloud  shading  the  rose-light  of  morn  : 

I  saw  not  the  soft  feather's  tremulous  grace, 
I  watch'd  but  the  being  by  whom  it  was  worn ; 

I  watch'd  her  white  brow  as  benignly  it  bent, 

While  the  million-voiced  welcome  the  air  around 
rent. 


O 


156  VICTORIA. 


They  told  me  the  rich  silken  robe  that  she  wore 
Was  of  exquisite  texture  and  loveliest  die, 

Embroider'd  with  blossoms  of  silver  all  o'er, 

And  clasp'd  with  pure  jewels  that  dazzled  the  eye  : 

I  saw  not,  I  thought  not  of  clasp,  robe,  or  wreath, 

I  thought  of  the  timid  heart  beating  beneath. 
9 

I  was  born  in  a  land  where  they  bend  not  the  knee, 
Save    to    One — unto  whom  even  monarchs  bow 

down  : 
But  lo  !  as  I  gazed,  in  my  breast  springing  free, 

Love  knelt  to  her  sweetness,  forgetting  her  crown  ; 
And  my  heart  might  have  challenged  the  myriads 

there, 

For  the  warmth  of  its  praise,  and  the  truth  of  its 
prayer. 

And  to  her — to  that  maiden,  young,  innocent,  gay, 
With  the  wild-rose  of  childhood  yet  warm  on  her 
cheek, 

And  a  spirit,  scarce  calm'd  from  its  infantine  play 
Into  woman's  deep  feeling,  devoted  and  meek  ; 

To  her — in  the  bloom  of  her  shadowless  youth — 

Proud  millions  are  turning  with  chivalrous  truth. 


NONE  ARE  POOR.  157 

It  is  right, — the  All-judging  hath  order'd  it  so  ; 

In  the  light  of  His  favor  the  pure  maiden  stands  : 
And  who,  that  has  gazed  on  that  cheek's  modest 

glow, 
Would  not  yield  without  murmur  his  fate  to  her 

hands  ? 

Trust  on,  noble  Britons !  trust  freely  the  while  ! 
I  would  stake  my  soul's  hope  on  the  truth  of  that 
smile ! 


NONE  ARE  POOR. 

ALAS  !  for  the  gay,  who  in  gorgeous  array, 

And  chariots  of  pride,  to  God's  altars  are  roll'd  : 

They  would  turn  from  a  love-breathing  seraph  away 
If  he  came  not  apparell'd  in  purple  and  gold ! 

She  stood  'mid  the  splendid  insignia  of  wealth ; 
But  the  jewels  that  shone  o'er  her  beauty  and 
bloom 

14 


158  NONE  ARE  POOR. 

Were  less  fair  than  the  sunny  ray,  smiling  by  stealth 
Through  the  rose-tinted  damask  that  shaded  the 


In  the  flash  of  her  glance  there  was  passion  and 

pride, 

In  the  curve  of  her  lip  there  was  haughty  con- 
tempt, 
As  she  spoke  of  the  power  to  riches  allied, 

Of  the  evil  and  pain  from  which  she  was  exempt. 

Another  stood  by,  with  a  soul  in  her  eye, 
Out-glowing  in  lustre  the  sun-ray  and  gem ; 

And  a  fount  in  that  soul  of  warm  feeling  and  high, 
Whose  least  emanation  was  worth  all  of  them. 

She  had  pass'd  thro'  the  shadow  and  sunlight  of  life, 
She  had  learn'd  in  its  storms  to  exult  and  endure  ; 

And  her  gentle  reply  with  sweet  wisdom  was  rife — 
"  To  me,  there  are  none  in  the  universe — poor !" 


FAZRY.  159 


FAZRY. 

HER  hands  clasp'd  in  anguish — her  black  eyes  bent 
low, 

With  motionless  grace,  as  if  sculptured  *in  stone, 
Half  veil'd  by  her  dark  hair's  magnificent  flow, 

Sweet  Fazry  is  standing — a  captive — alone  ! 

"  Kara  Aly  !" — the  statue  awakes  to  that  name, 
As  the  marble  grew  warm  'neath  the  love-spell  of 
old! 

Lo  !  her  pale  cheek  is  kindling  with  beautiful  shame, 
And  her  eye  is  on  fire  with  emotion  untold ! 

"  Frail  flower  of  Kazan !   you  were  nursed,  from 

your  birth, 

Amid  luxuries  rarest  and  richest  of  earth  ; — 
Why  left  you  that  home,  with  the  fierce  mountain- 

chiefr' 
"  I  loved  him  !"  she  murmur'd,  in  passionate  grief. 


160  MAY-DAY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 

"  So  young  and  so  lovely,  a  cavern  your  home ! 
Ne'er  languish'd  that  spirit  for  freedom  to  roam  1 
Rude  dwelling  for  creature  so  fragile  and  fair !" 
"  Ah,  no !"  she  replied—"  Kara  Aly  was  there !" 


MAY-DAY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 

CAN  this  be  May  ?  Can  this  be  May  1 

We  have  not  found  a  flower  to-day ! 

We  roam'd  the  wood — we  climb'd  the  hill — 

We  rested  by  the  rushing  rill — 

Ancl  lest  they  had  forgot  the  day, 

We  told  them  it  was  May,  dear  May ! 

We  call'd  the  sweet  wild  blooms  by  name — 

We  shouted,  and  no  answer  came  ! 

From  smiling  field,  or  solemn  hill — 

From  rugged  rock,  or  rushing  rill — 

We  only  bade  the  pretty  pets 

Just  breathe  from  out  their  hiding-places ; 


@ 

MAY-DAY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND.  161 

We  told  the  little  light  coquettes 

They  needn't  show  their  bashful  faces, — 
"  One  sigh,"  we  said,  "  one  fragrant  sigh, 
We'll  soon  discover  where  you  lie !" 
The  roguish  things  were  still  as  death — 
They  wouldn't  even  breathe  a  breath. 
Alas !  there's  none  so  deaf,  I  fear, 
As  those  who  do  not  choose  to  hear ! 

We  wander'd  to  an  open  place, 

And  sought  the  sunny  buttercup, — 
That,  so  delighted,  in  your  face 

Just  like  a  pleasant  smile  looks  up. 
We  peep'd  into  a  shady  spot 
To  find  the  blue  "  Forget-me-not !" 
At  last  a  far-off  voice  we  heard, 

A  voice  as  of  a  fountain-fall, 
That  softer  than  a  singing-bird, 

Did  answer  to  our  merry  call ! 
So  wildly  sweet  the  breezes  brought 

That  tone  in  every  pause  of  ours, 
That  we,  delighted,  fondly  thought 

It  must  be  talking  of  the  flowers ! 
We  knew  the  violets  loved  to  hide 
The  cool  and  lulling  wave  beside : — 

14* 


162  MAY-DAY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 

With  song,  and  laugh,  and  bounding  feet, 
And  wild  hair  wandering  on  the  wind, 
We  swift  pursued  the  murmurs  sweet ; 
But  not  a  blossom  could  we  find  ; — 
The  cowslip,  crocus,  columbine, 
The  violet,  and  the  snow-drop  fine, 
The  orchis  'neath  the  hawthorn-tree, 
The  blue-bell,  and  anemone, 
The  wild-rose,  eglantine,  and  daisy, 
Where  are  they  all  ? — they  must  be  lazy  ! 
Perhaps  they're  playing  "  Hide  and  seek" — 
Oh,  naughty  flowers  !  why  don't  you  speak  ? 
We  have  not  found  a  flower  to-day, — 
They  surely  cannot  know  'tis  May  ! 

You  have  not  found  a  flower  to-day ! — 
What's  that  upon  your  cheek,  I  pray  1 
A  blossom  pure,  and  sweet,  and  wild, 

And  worth  all  Nature's  blooming  wealth 
Not  all  in  vain  your  search,  my  child ! — 

You've  found  at  least  the  rose  of  health ! 
The  golden  buttercup,  you  say, 
That  like  a  smile  illumes  the  way, 
Is  nowhere  to  be  seen  to-day. 
Fair  child  !  upon  that  beaming  face 


MAY-DAY  IN  NEW  ENGLAND.  163 

A  softer,  lovelier  smile  I  trace ; 

A  treasure,  as  the  sunshine  bright, — 

A  glow  of  love  and  wild  delight ! 

Then  pine  no  more  for  Nature's  toy — 

You've  found  at  least  the  flower  of  joy. 

Yes  !  in  a  heart  so  young  and  gay, 

And  kind  as  yours,  'tis  always  May ! 

For  gentle  feelings,  love,  are  flowers 

That  bloom  thro'  life's  most  clouded  hours  ! 

Ah !  cherish  them,  my  happy  child, 

And  check  the  weeds  that  wander  wild  ; 

And  while  their  stainless  wealth  is  given, 

In  incense  sweet,  to  earth  and  heaven, 

No  longer  will  you  need  to  say — 

"  Can  this  be  May  ?  Can  this  be  May  ?" 


164  VIRGINIA. 


VIRGINIA. 

I  SAW  her  first — a  petted  child, 
Her  eyes  were  blue  as  heaven  ; 

Her  cheek  was  dimpled  when  she  smiled, 
Her  lips  a  rose-bud  riven. 

Her  form,  the  prettiest  in  the  world, 

Her  step — a  fairy's  flight, 
Her  hair,  like  clouded  sunshine,  curl'd 

In  clusters  wild  and  bright. 

"  A  child,"  I  said,— so  artless,  wild, 

And  full  of  mirth  her  mien  ; 
You'd  deem  her  but  a  lovely  child, 

Though  she  was  just  fifteen. 

I  met  her  on  her  way  to  school, 
The  snow  fell  swift  and  still ; 

The  morn  was  clear  and  bright,  but  cool, 
And  I  had  felt  the  chill. 


VIRGINIA.  165 


But  idly  at  that  childlike  form 

Fierce  Winter  flung  his  dart ; 
Her  frolic  feet  had  kept  her  warm, 

And  Love  was  at  her  heart. 

Her  small  straw  bonnet  backward  flung, 
Her  cloak  blown  here  and  there, 

While  drops  of  snow-like  jewels  hung 
In  her  disorder'd  hair. — 

That  dimpled  cheek  was  flush'd  and  bright, 

A  smile  was  on  her  lip  ; 
Her  eyes  were  full  of  wild  delight, 

And  gay  her  graceful  trip. 

She  seern'd  a  sunbeam  in  my  way, 

The  vision  warm'd  my  heart, 
And  Memory  kept  the  blessed  ray 

Long  after  we  did  part. 

Years  went — again  her  path  I've  cross'd  ; 

Ah  !  from  that  form  and  face 
What  depth  of  bloom  and  light  are  lost, 

What  wealth  of  artless  grace  ! 


166  VIRGINIA. 


The  world  has  won  her — she  has  learn'd 
Its  measured  smile  and  tread  ; 

The  foot  that  once  the  snow-flake  spurn'd, 
By  courtly  rule  is  led. 

And  Fashion's  hand  has  smooth'd  the  fold 

Of  that  luxuriant  hair, 
Where  once  the  tress  of  glossy  gold 

Waved  wildly  on  the  air. 

Yet  oft,  unbidden,  to  her  eyes 

Quick  tears  of  Feeling  start, 
And  while  those  gems  of  truth  arise, 

She's  still  a  child  at  heart. 

Alas  !  in  all  her  Beauty's  power, 

Proud,  stately,  and  serene  ; 
She  knows  not  one  bright  thrilling  hour 

Like  those  of  gay  fifteen  ! 


© 

TO  ANNA.  167 


TO  ANNA, 
In  reply  to  a  Letter. 

DON'T  say  you  are  "  ugly,"  you  darling ! 

While  still  your  sweet  letters  unfold 
The  same  glowing  soul  that  enliven'd 

Those  delicate  features  of  old ! — 

That  soul,  whose  pure  fire  would  illume,  love, 
A  cheek  of  less  exquisite  mould, 

With  a  changeable  beauty  and  bloom,  love, 
To  which  Aphrodite's  were  cold. 

Don't  say  you've  grown  "  ugly  and  stupid," 
While  still  in  each  line  I  can  trace 

Some  glimpse  of  those  lovely  emotions 
Which  once  I  could  read  in  your  face ! 


168  WHAT  I  LOVE. 


When  you  tell  me  your  mind  wears  a  chain,  love, 
When  you  tell  me  your  heart  is  asleep, 

Then  may-be,  but  never  till  then,  love, 
The  wreck  of  your  beauty  I'll  weep. 


WHAT  I  LOVE. 

I  DEARLY  love  a  changing  cheek, 

That  glows  cr  pales  as  feeling  chooses, 

And  lets  the  free  heart  frankly  speak 
Upon  it  what  the  tongue  refuses. 

Where  eloquent  blushes  burn  and  fade, 
Rich  with  the  wealth  of  warm  emotion  ; 

Or  starry  dimples  mock  the  shade, 
Like  jewels  in  a  restless  ocean. 

I  dearly  love  a  speaking  eye, 

That  tells  you  there's  a  soul  to  wake  it ; 
Now  fired  with  fancies  wild  and  high, 

Now  soft  as  sympathy  can  make  it. 


WHAT  I  LOVE.  169 


An  eye  whose  dreamy  depths  and  dark, 
In  Passion's  storm  can  proudly  lighten  ! 

But  where  Love's  tears  can  quench  the  spark, 
And  Peace  the  sky  serenely  brighten  ! 

I  love  a  lip  that  eye  to  match, 

Now  curl'd  with  scorn,  now  press'd  in  sadness, 
And^  quick  each  feeling's  change  to  catch, 

Next  moment  arch'd  with  smiles  of  gladness. 

I  love  a  hand  that  meets  mine  own 

With  grasp  that  causes  some  sensation  ; 

I  love  a  voice  whose  varying  tone 

From  Truth  has  learn'd  its  modulation. 

And  who  can  boast  that  regal  eye  1 
That  smile  and  tone,  untaught  by  art  ? 

That  cheek  of  ever-changing  dye  1 

That  brave,  free,  generous,  cordial  heart  ? 

I  need  not  name  her  !  None  who've  heard 
Her  welcome  true  —  her  parting  blessing  — 

Her  laugh,  by  lightest  trifle  stirr'd  — 
Her  frank  reply  —  will  fail  in  guessing  ! 

15 


170  ON  A  LANDSCAPE  BY  DOUGHTY. 


ON  A  LANDSCAPE  BY  DOUGHTY, 
Called  "  The  Indian  Summer." 

AH,  yes  !  in  the  mist,  whose  soft  splendor 
Is  shed  like  a  smile  o'er  the  scene, 

So  rich,  yet  so  meltingly  tender, 
So  radiant,  yet  so  serene, — 

In  the  azure  air  veiling  the  mountain, 
Far  off,  with  its  own  robe  of  light, 

In  the  gleam  and  the  foam  of  the  fountain, 
In  the  foliage  so  gorgeously  bright, — 

I  see  a  wild  beauty  belonging 

To  one  sunny  region  alone — 
New  England,  beloved  New  England ! 

The  soul-waking  scene  is  thine  own ! 


ON  A  LANDSCAPE   BY   DOUGHTY.  171 

And  gazing  entranced  on  the  picture, 
Mine  eyes  are  with  tears  running  o'er ; 

For  my  heart  has  flown  home  to  those  mountains, 
And  I  am  an  exile  no  more ! 

Again  through  the  woodlands  I  wander, 
Where  autumn  trees,  lofty  and  bold, 

Are  stealing  from  bright  clouds  above  them 
Their  wealth  of  deep  crimson  and  gold. 

Where  Nature  is  sceptred  and  crown'd, 
As  a  queen  in  her  worshipping  land  ; 

While  her  rock-pillar'd  palaces  round, 
All  matchless  in  majesty  stand ! 

Where  the  star  of  her  forest  dominions, 
The  humming-bird,  darts  to  its  food, 

Like  a  gem  or  a  blossom  on  pinions, 
Whose  glory  illumines  the  wood. 

Where  her  loftiest,  loveliest  flower,* 
Pours  forth  its  impassion'd  perfume  ; 

And  her  torrents,  all  regal  in  power, 

Are  wreath'd  with  the  sun-circle's  bloom. 

*  The  Magnolia. 


172  ON  A  LANDSCAPE   BY   DOUGHTY. 

Where,  on  cloud-pillows  soft  but  resplendent, 

Our  day-spirit  floats  to  his  rest ; 
And  the  moon,  like  a  pure  jewel-pendent, 

Is  hung  on  night's  love-breathing  breast. 

New  England  !  beloved  New  England ! 

I  breathe  thy  rich  air  as  of  yore  ; 
For  my  heart  is  at  home  in  those  mountains, 

And  I  am  an  exile  no  more  ! 

Yet  not  for  thy  beauty  or  glory, 
Though  lofty  and  lovely  thou  art, 

And  not  for  thy  proud  haunts  of  story, 
These  tears  of  deep  tenderness  start ; — 

There's  a  home  in  the  heart  of  New  England, 
Where  once  I  was  fondly  caress'd  ! 

Where  strangers  ne'er  look'd  on  me  coldly, 
And  care  never  came  to  my  breast ! 

Though  warm  hearts  have  cherish'd  the  exile 

In  moments  of  sorrow  and  pain, 
There's  a  home  in  the  heart  of  New  England, — 

Oh  !  when  shall  I  see  it  again ! 


A  LOVE   SONG.  173 


YOUR  HEART  IS  A  MUSIC-BOX,  DEAREST ! 

A  LOVE   SONG. 

YOUR  heart  is  a  music-box,  dearest ! 

With  exquisite  tunes  at  command, 
Of  melody  sweetest  and  clearest, 

If  tried  by  a  delicate  hand  ; 
But  its  workmanship,  love,  is  so  fine, 

At  a  single  rude  touch  it  would  break ; 
Then  oh  !  be  the  magic  key  mine, 

Its  fairy-like  whispers  to  wake  ! 
And  there's  one  little  tune  it  can  play, 

That  I  fancy  all  others  above — 
You  learn'd  it  of  Cupid  one  day — 

It  begins  with   and  ends  with   "I  love!" 
"  I  love  !" 

My  heart  echoes  to  it  "  I  love !" 


174 


THE    CHERUB'S  SECRET. 

WHAT  made  my  Ellen  start  and  smile, 
Then  sink  in  soft  repose  again, 

As  if  some  joyous  thought  the  while 

Had  darted  through  her  slumbering  brain, 

Like  rosy  lightning  brief  and  bright, 

Illumining  a  summer  night "? 

Perhaps  a  viewless  cherub  stole, 
Young  as  thyself,  as  pure  and  fair, 

On  tiny  pinions  to  thy  soul, 

And  whisp'ring  some  sweet  secret  there, 

Awoke  that  smile  of  heavenly  glee  :, 

My  Ellen  !  wake — and  tell  it  me  ! 


HYMN  TO  THE  VIRGIN.  175 


HYMN  TO  THE  VIRGIN. 

MOTHER  of  the  spirit-child  ! 

Of  the  guileless  and  the  meek 
Mournful  are  thine  eyes,  but  mild 
With  a  beauty  from  above  ; 
Pale,  but  eloquent  with  love, 
Thy  youthful  brow  and  cheek  ! 
Thou,  oh !  thou  hast  known  a  parent's  wasting  grief ! 
A  suppliant  parent  kneels,  imploring  thy  relief ! 

By  the  pure  and  solemn  joy 

Filling  all  thy  maiden  breast, 
When  the  precious  heaven-born  boy, 
Glowing  with  celestial  charms, 
Lay  within  those  virgin  arms 
A  bright  and  wondrous  guest ! 
Hear,  in  mercy,  hear  the  faltering  voice  of  grief ! 
A  suppliant  mother  kneels,  imploring  thy  relief ! 


176  THE   DYING  ROSE-BUD's  LAMENT. 

By  thine  anguish  in  that  hour, 

Hour  of  wo  and  dread,  when  Death 
Dared  to  stay  the  awful  power, 
High,  majestic,  yet  benign ; 
Dared  to  seal  the  truths  divine 
Which  dwelt  upon  his  breath  ! 
By  thy  hope,  thy  trust,  thy  rapture,  and  thy  grief, 
Oh  !  sainted  Marie  !  send  this  breaking  heart  relief ! 


THE  DYING  ROSE-BUD'S  LAMENT. 

AH  me  !  ah  !  wo  is  me  ! 

That  I  should  perish  now, 
With  the  dear  sunlight  just  let  in 

Upon  my  balmy  brow  ! 

My  leaves,  instinct  with  glowing  life, 
Were  quivering  to  unclose  ! 

My  happy  heart  with  love  was  rife  ! 
I  was  almost  a  Rose  ! 


THE   DYING  ROSE-BUD's  LAMENT.  177 

Nerved  by  a  hope,  warm,  rich,  intense, 

Already  I  had  risen 
Above  my  cage's  curving  fence, 

My  green  and  graceful  prison  ! 

My  pouting  lips,  by  Zephyr  press'd, 

Were  just  prepared  to  part, 
And  whisper  to  the  wooing  wind 

The  rapture  of  my  heart ! 

In  new-born  fancies  revelling, 

My  mossy  cell  half  riven, 
Each  thrilling  leaflet  seem'd  a  wing 

To  bear  me  into  heaven. 

How  oft,  while  yet  an  infant  flower, 

My  crimson  cheek  I've  laid 
Against  the  green  bars  of  my  bower, 

Impatient  of  the  shade  ! 

And  pressing  up  and  peeping  through 

Its  small  but  precious  vistas, 
Sigh'd  for  the  lovely  light  and  dew 

That  bless'd  my  elder  sisters  ! 


p 

178    THE  UNEXPECTED  DECLARATION. 

I  saw  the  sweet  breeze  rippling  o'er 
Their  leaves  that  loved  the  play, 

Though  the  light  thief  stole  all  their  store 
Of  dew-drop  gems  away. 

I  thought  how  happy  I  should  be 
Such  diamond  wreaths  to  wear, 

And  frolic  with  a  rose's  glee, 
With  sunbeam,  bird,  and  air  ! 

Ah  me  !  ah !  wo  is  me  !  that  I, 

Ere  yet  my  leaves  unclose, 
With  all  my  wealth  of  sweets  must  die 

Before  I  am  a  Rose  ! 


THE  UNEXPECTED  DECLARATION. 

"  AZURE-EYED  Eloise  !  beauty  is  thine, 
Passion  kneels  to  thee,  and  calls  thee  divine  ; 
Minstrels  awaken  the  lute  with  thy  name ; 
Poets  have  gladden'd  the  world  with  thy  fame  ; 


THE  UNEXPECTED  DECLARATION.     179 

Painters,  half  holy,  thy  loved  image  keep  ; 
Beautiful  Eloise  !  why  do  you  weep  ?" 

Still  bows  the  lady  her  light  tresses  low, — 
Fast  the  warm  tears  from  her  veiled  eyes  flow ! 

"  Sunny-hair'd  Eloise  !  wealth  is  thine  own  ; 
Rich  is  thy  silken  robe — bright  is  thy  zone ; 
Proudly  the  jewel  illumines  thy  \tfay  ; 
Clear  rubies  rival  thy  ruddy  lip's  play ; 
Diamonds  like  star-drops  thy  silken  braids  deck ; 
Pearls  waste  their  snow  on  thy  lovelier  neck  ; 
Luxury  softens  thy  pillow  for  sleep — 
Angels  watch  over  it ! — Why  do  you  weep  ?" 

Bows  the  fair  lady  her  light  tresses  low, — 
Faster  the  tears  from  her  veiled  eyes  flow  ! 

"  Gifted  and  worshipp'd  one  !  Genius  and  Grace 
Play  in  each  motion,  and  beam  in  thy  face  : 
When  from  thy  rosy  lip  rises  the  song, 
Hearts  that  adore  thee  the  echo  prolong ! 
Ne'er  in  the  festival  shone  an  eye  brighter, 
Ne'er  in  the  mazy  dance  fell  a  foot  lighter. 


Q  i 

180    THE  UNEXPECTED  DECLARATION. 

One  only  spirit  thou'st  fail'd  to  bring  down, — 
Exquisite  Eloise  !  why  do  you  frown !" 

Swift  o'er  her  forehead  a  dark  shadow  stole, 
Sent  from  the  tempest  of  pride  in  her  soul ! 

"  Touch'd   by   thy   sweetness — in    love    with    thy 

grace — 

Charm'd  by  the  .magic  of  mind  in  thy  face — 
Bewitch'd  by  thy  beauty — e'en  his  haughty  strength — 
The  strength  of  the  stoic,  is  conquer'd  at  length  ! 
Lo  !  at  thy  feet — see  him  kneeling  the  while — 
Eloise  !  Eloise  !  why  do  you  smile  1" 

The  hand  was  withdrawn  from  her  happy  blue  eyes, 
She  gazed  on  her  lover  with  laughing  surprise  ; 
While  the  dimple  and  blush,  stealing  soft  to  her  cheek, 
Told  the  tale  that  her  tongue  was  too  timid  to  speak ! 


© 


LIZZIE.  181 


WHAT  CAN  BE  THE  MATTER  WITH  LIZZIE  ? 

WHAT  can  be  the  matter  with  Lizzie  to-night  1 
Her  eyes,  that  in  tears  were  so  touchingly  tender, 

For  twenty-four  hours  have  been  filling  with  light, 
Till  I  scarcely  dare  meet  their  bewildering  splendor. 

You'd  almost  imagine  a  star  had  been  lighted 
Within  her — a  new-born  and  beautiful  flame, 

To  bless  with  its  pure  ray  her  spirit  benighted, 
And  smile  thro'  those  eyes  to  which  sorrow's  cloud 
came. 

What  can  be  the  matter  with  Lizzie  ! — her  cheek, 
That  of  late  has  been  dimpleless,  colorless,  cold, 

Has  gather'd  a  glow  and  a  glory,  that  speak 
Like  an  eloquent  voice  of  a  rapture  untold. 

What  can  be  the  matter  with  Lizzie  ! — her  tone, 
That  was  doubting  and  faint  in  its  low  melody 

16 


=<g> 

182  LIZZIE. 

As  the  morning  ray  rising  thro'  mist-tears  alone, 
Or  the  sound  of  a  bell  ringing  soft  in  the  sea, — 

Has  suddenly  thrill'd  to  a  richness  and  fervor, 
A  passionate  sweetness,  untroubled  and  deep — 

You  would  think  in  her  heart  had  arisen  to  nerve  her, 
An  angel, — awaken'd  from  sorrow  and  sleep. 

It  is  Love  !  it  is  Love !  by  the  joy  that  is  stealing 
Like  light  o'er  her  forehead  I  know  it  is  Love  ! — 

He  has  touch'd  with  his  wand  the  wild  fountain  of 

feeling, 
He  floats  like  a  spirit  that  fountain  above. 

He  has  kindled  his  star-lamp — the  deathless — the 
pure — 

Within — and  her  heart's  hidden  riches  are  shown  . 
His  own  seraph  voice  has  breathed  melody  to  her — 

And  hers  has  caught  all  its  deep  magic  of  tone. 

Oh !  still  may  that  voice  keep  its  sweetness  and  joy, 
And  still  may  that  cheek  wear  its  glow  of  delight, 

And  those  dear  eyes,  unshadow'd  by  sorrow's  alloy, 
Still  beam  with  the  fondness  that  fills  them  to-night. 


MINA  DOLCE.  183 


MINA  DOLOE. 


BENEATH  Italia's  laughing  skies, 

When  joy  the  summer  hour  beguiled  ; 
I  found  one  day  a  lovely  prize, 

A  blossom  bright  and  wild. 
Ah !    Mina  Dolce  !    Cara  Mina !  graceful  Rose  of 

Italic ! 

Dost  thou  bloom  there  in  thy  beauty  still, — and  is 
thy  bloom  for  me  ? 

I  raised  its  tender  cheek  to  mine, 
I  woke  it  from  its  pure  repose ; 
I  kiss'd  away  its  dew  divine  ! 

Its  tears  ! — my  radiant  Rose  ! 
Ah !  Mina  Dolce !  Cara  Mina !  blushing  flower  of 

Italic ! 

Art  thou  smiling  in  thy  bower  still, — and  is  thy 
smile  for  me  ? 


184  LINES. 


I've  gazed  since  then  on  loftier  flowers, 

In  scenes  more  richly,  grandly  wild, 

Ne'er  found  I  bloom  in  Northern  bowers 

To  match  Italia's  child. 
Ah !    Mina   Dolce !    Cara  Mina !    virgin   Rose   of 

Italic ! 

May  I  wear  thee  on  my  heart,  and  wilt  thou  give 
thy  tears  to  me  ? 


LINES 


Suggested  by  a  mourning-locket,  in  which  was  painted  a  winged 
Cherub,  with  the  motto — "  Je  veille  sur  toi,  ma  mere  !" 


JE  veille  sur  toi,  ma  mere  ! 

I  hear  thy  softest  sigh  of  love, 
I  listen  to  thy  lightest  prayer, 

And  echo  it  above. 


LINES.  185 


I  see  thee  when,  in  lonely  hour, 

My  semblance  wins  thy  ready  tear ; 

Thou  canst  not  hear  my  spirit  step, 
But,  mother  !  I  am  near  ! 

When  glowing  morn  the  mountain  treads 
With  foot  of  fire  and  dewy  eye, 

And  dazzled  seraphs  veil  their  heads 
Before  the  light  on  high  ! 

And  when  beneath  my  home  of  joy 
The  stars  are  smiling  through  the  air, 

Where  angels  roam  on  blest  employ, 
Je  veille  sur  toi,  ma  mere  ! 

While  o'er  thy  wearied  frame  is  shed 
The  welcome  balm  of  soothing  sleep, 

Lightly  o'er  that  beloved  head — 
My  vigils  still  I  keep  ! 

Dost  thou  not  see  in  visions  fair, 

A  radiant  being  wander  by  T 
And  hear  a  soft  voice  murmuring  there, 

"  My  mother  !  it  is  I  ?" 

16* 


186  WHY  WILL. A  ROSE-BUD  BLOW? 

And  when  above  my  early  grave 
Thy  gentle  spirit  prays  relief, 

Feel'st  thou  no  angel-plumage  wave 
Above  thee  in  thy  grief"? 

Je  veille  sur  toi,  ma  mere  ! 

Oh  !  still  thy  lost  but  happy  boy 
Is  near  thee,  with  thee  everywhere, 

In  sorrow  and  in  joy. 

Forget  not  then,  where'er  thou  art, 

The  promise-words  that  bless  thy  prayer, 

But  wear  them  in  thy  "  heart  of  heart," 
"  Je  veille  sur  toi,  ma  mere  !" 


WHY  WILL  A  ROSE-BUD  BLOW? 

I  WISH  the  bud  would  never  blow, 
'Tis  prettier  and  purer  so  ; 
It  blushes  through  its  bower  of  green, 
And  peeps  above  the  mossy  screen 


WHY  WILL  A  ROSE-BUD  BLOW?  187 

So  timidly,  I  cannot  bear 

To  have  it  open  to  the  air. 

I  kiss'd  it  o'er  and  o'er  again, 

As  if  my  kisses  were  a  chain, 

To  close  the  quivering  leaflets  fast, 

And  make  for  once — a  rose-bud  last ! 

But  kisses  are  but  feeble  links 

For  changeful  things,  like  flowers,  methinks  ; 

The  wayward  rose-leaves,  one  by  one, 

Uncurl'd  and  look'd  up  to  the  sun, 

With  their  sweet  flushes  fainter  growing, 

I  could  not  keep  my  bud  from  blowing  ! 

Ah  !  there  upon  my  hand  it  lay, 

And  faded,  faded  fast  away ; 

You  might  have  thought  you  heard  it  sighing, 

It  look'd  so  mournfully  in  dying. 

I  wish  it  were  a  rose-bud  now, 

I  wish  'twere  only  hiding  yet, 
With  timid  grace  its  blushing  brow, 

Behind  the  green  that  shelter'd  it. 
I  had  not  written  were  it  so, 
Why  would  the  silly  rose-bud  blow  1 


188      NEW  ENGLAND'S  MOUNTAIN-CHILD. 


FANNY'S  ERROR. 

FANNY  shuts  her  smiling  eyes, 
Then,  because  she  cannot  see, — 

Thoughtless  simpleton  !  she  cries, 
"  Ah !  you  can't  see  me  !" 

Fanny's  like  the  sinner  vain, 
Who  with  spirit  shut  and  dim, 

Thinks  because  he  sees  not  Heaven, 
Heaven  cannot  see  him ! 


NEW  ENGLAND'S  MOUNTAIN-CHILD. 

WHERE  foams  the  fall — a  tameless  storm — 
Through  Nature's  wild  and  rich  arcade, 

Which  forest-trees  entwining  form, 
There  trips  the  Mountain-maid  ! 


NEW  ENGLAND'S  MOUNTAIN-CHILD.      189 

She  binds  not  her  luxuriant  hair 
With  dazzling  gem  or  costly  plume, 

But  gayly  wreathes  a  rose-bud  there, 
To  match  her  maiden-bloom. 

She  clasps  no  golden  zone  of  pride 
Her  fair  and  simple  robe  around  ; 

By  flowing  riband,  lightly  tied, 
Its  graceful  folds  are  bound. 

And  thus  attired, — a  sportive  thing, 

Pure,  loving,  guileless,  bright,  and  wild, — 

Proud  Fashion  !  match  me  in  your  ring, 
New  England's  Mountain-child ! 

She  scorns  to  sell  her  rich,  warm  heart, 
For  paltry  gold,  or  haughty  rank, — 

But  gives  her  love,  untaught  by  art, 
Confiding,  free,  and  frank ! 

And  once  bestow'd, — no  fortune-change 
That  high  and  generous  faith  can  alter  ; 

Through  grief  and  pain — too  pure  to  range — 
She  will  not  fly  or  falter. 


190       THE  BABY  AND  THE  BREEZE. 

Her  foot  will  bound  as  light  and  free 
In  lowly  hut  as  palace-hall ; 

Her  sunny  smile  as  warm  will  be, — 
For  Love  to  her  is  all ! 

Hast  seen  where  in  our  woodland-gloom 
The  rich  Magnolia  proudly  smiled  1 — 

So  brightly  doth  she  bud  and  bloom, 
New  England's  Mountain-child ! 


THE  BABY  AND  THE  BREEZE. 

THE  breeze  was  high,  and  blew  her  sun-brown 

tresses 

About  her  snowy  brow  and  violet  eyes  ; 
And  she — my  Ellen— brave  and  sweetly  wise, 
In  gay  defiance  of  its  rough  caresses, 
With  rosy,  pouting  mouth,  essay'd  at  length 
To  blow  the  rude  airs  back,  that  mock'd  her  baby- 
strength. 


o 

LINES.  191 

Ah  !  thus  when  Fortune's  storms  assail  thy  soul, 
Yield  not,  nor  shrink !  but  bear  thee  bravely  still 
Against  their  fury !    With  thine  own  sweet  will 
And  childlike  faith,  oppose  their  fierce  control, 
So  shalt  thou  bloom  at  last,  my  treasured  flower, 
Unharm'd  by  tempest-shock,  in  Heaven's  calm  sum- 
mer bower ! 


LINES 
ON  HOWARD'S  PICTURE  OF  "  THE  HOURS  AWAKING  THE  MORNING." 

SHE  sleeps !  on  her  cloud-pillows  softly  reclining, 
Her  glowing  cheek  dimples  with  dreamy  delight, 

Around  her  white  shoulders  rich  sun-tresses  twining, 
With  dim,  dewy  lustre,  illumine  the  night ; — 

Yes  !  faint  through  the  mist  that  enwreathes  her  re- 
posing, 
The  gleam  of  that  golden  hair  glistens  the  while, 


192  LINES. 


Making  twilight  on  high ; — till  those  blue  eyes,  un- 
closing, 
Shall  flash  on  creation  the  wealth  of  their  smile  ! 

She  sleeps !    and  the  stars  have  gone  by  in  their 

glory, 
Nor  woke  with  their  wing'd  feet  the  dreamer  they 

met! 

And  Dian  has  stolen  to  tell  the  love-story 
Her  blooming  Endymion  listens  to  yet ! 

She  sleeps  !  the  young  goddess  Aurora  ! — so  glow- 
ing, 

So  sweet  are  her  visions,  she  will  not  awake  ! 
And  silent  and  swift  are  the  dim  Hours  going, — 
But  hark!    o'er  the  stillness  what   music   doth 
break  ! 

Behold !    through  the  mist,  the  fair  Hour  of  the 

Morning, 
With  smiles  of  arch  meaning,  floats  gracefully 

by; 
Her  finger  uplifted  in  frolicsome  warning, 

With  song  on  her  lip,  and  reproof  in  her  eye  ! 


LINES.  193 


"  Sweet  sluggard  !  awaken ! — Apollo  is  near ! 

Oh  !  fly  ere  the  god  shall  thy  slumbers  surprise  ! 
His  flame-winged  coursers  already  I  hear ! 

Aurora  !  my  sister  ! — awaken  !  arise  !" 

And  the  goddess  springs  up  from  the  slumbers  that 

bound  her, 

And  pauses  in  blushing  bewilderment  there  ; 
Her  rosy  smiles  melting  the   mist-wreath   around 

her, — 
Her  gold-tresses  shedding  soft  dew  on  the  air  ! 

Now  slowly  she  comes ! — Heaven  kindles  before 
her, — 

Her  lark  warbles  proudly  his  passionate  lay, — 
Earth  woos  with  a  smile  the  light  step  of  Aurora, — 

And  Beauty  and  Music  awake  in  her  way  ! 


194       THE  CHILD  PLAYING  WITH  A  WATCH. 


THE  CHILD  PLAYING  WITH  A  WATOH. 

ART  thou  playing  with  Time  in  thy  sweet  baby- 
glee  * 

Will  he  pause  on  his  pinions  to  frolic  with  thee  1 
Oh !  show  him  those  shadowless,  innocent  eyes, 
That  smile  of  bewilder'd  and  beaming  surprise  ; 
Let  him  look  on  that  cheek  where  thy  rich  hair  re- 
poses, 

Where  dimples  are  playing  "  bopeep"  with  the  roses  ; 
His  wrinkled  brow  press  with  light  kisses  and  warm, 
And  clasp  his  rough  neck  with  thy  soft  wreathing 

arm. 

Perhaps  thy  bewitching  and  infantine  sweetness 
May  win  him,  for  once,  to  delay  in  his  fleetness ; 
To  pause,  ere  he  rifle,  relentless  in  flight, 
A  blossom  so  glowing  of  bloom  and  of  light. 
Then,  then  would  I  keep  thee,  my  beautiful  child, 
With  thy  blue  eyes  unshadow'd,  thy  blush  undefiled  ; 


WHY  DON'T  HE  COME?  195 

With  thy  innocence  only  to  guard  thee  from  ill, 
In  life's  sunny  dawning,  a  lily-bud  still ! 
Laugh  on  !  my  own  Ellen  !  that  voice,  which  to  me 
Gives  a  warning  so  solemn,  makes  music  for  thee  ; 
And  while  I  at  those  sounds  feel  the  idler's  annoy, 
Thou  hear'st  but  the, tick  of  the  pretty  gold  toy  ; 
Thou  seest  but  a  smile  on  the  brow  of  the  churl, 
May  his  frown  never  awe  thee,  my  own  baby-girl. 
And  oh !  may  his  step,  as  he  wanders  with  thee, 
Light  and  soft  as  thine  own  little  fairy-tread  be  ! 
While  still  in  all  seasons,  in  storms  and  fair  weather, 
May  Time  and  my  Ellen  be  playmates  together. 


OTHY  DON'T  HE  OOME  ? 

ALL  the  girls  in  the  village  save  me  have  gone  forth, 
To  meet  the  brave  soldiers  return'd  from  the  North, 
They  have  donn'd  the  best  kirtle  and  braided  their 

hair, 
And  gayly  their  voices  ring  back  on  the  air  ; 


196  WHY  DON'T  HE  COME  ? 

But  I  am  too  happy  to  care  for  my  dress, 
Or  to  bind  with  bright  ribands  the  wild-waving  tress, 
For  the  fairest,  and  bravest,  and  best  of  the  band, 
Will  claim,  ere  the  morrow,  this  heart  and  this  hand. 
Hush !  hark !  far  away  !  'tis  the  bugle  and  drum  ! 
Now  louder  and  nearer — oh  !  why  don't  he  come  1 

I  cannot  go  forth  with  the  others  to  claim 

His  smile — his  caresses — I  cannot  for  shame  ! 

For  my  love  is  too  holy,  my  joy  is  too  high, 

To  bear  the  light  gaze  of  each  villager's  eye  ; 

He  would  think  I  had  changed, — I  should    shrink 

from  his  touch, — 

I  should  hate  them  to  see  that  I  love  him  so  much. 
But  here  !  oh  !  how  fondly  I'll  welcome  him  home  ! 
He  knows  I  am  waiting  him — why  don't  he  come  ? 

Perhaps  cousin  Mabel  has  seen  him  ere  this, — 
She  would  not  be  bashful  at  claiming  a  kiss  ; 
How  exulting  she  look'd  as  she  join'd  the  gay  girls, 
With  those  red  berries  wreathing  her  shadowy  curls  ! 
It  is  true  all  the  lads  say  her  smile  is  divine, 
But  I  don't  think  her  eyes  are  so  pretty  as  mine  ; — 
So  black  and  so  bold  !  and  they  dazzle  one  so  ! 
My  Willie  loves  blue  eyes  and  light  hair,  I  know  : 


• 

ON  A  PICTURE.  197 


He  will  not  forget  his  own  Ellen  at  home, 
For  Mabel  or  any  one,  —  when  will  he  come  ? 

I'm  weary  of  waiting  —  how  strangely  unkind 
To  linger  so  from  me,  —  I've  made  up  my  mind 
I  won't  kiss  him  now,  when  he  does  —  ah  !  behold  ! 
Who  hastes  o'er  the  common  with  bearing  so  bold  ? 
He  waves  his  plumed  cap  !  it  is  he  !  it  is  he  ! 
Bless  his  heart  —  how  he  flies  now  he's  caught  sight 

of  me! 

Ah  !  Mabel  may  listen  the  bugle  and  drum, 
And  bewitch  the  whole  regiment  —  Willie  has  come  ! 


ON  A  PICTURE, 

Representing  a  maiden  with  a  pair  of  scales,  and  Love  with  a  but- 
terfly ;  the  winged  boy  rises,  as  he  should,  and  the  motto  be- 
neath is—"  Love  is  the  lightest !" 

SILLY  maiden,  weigh  them  not ! 

Butterflies  are  earthly  things ; 
Thou  forget'st  their  lowly  lot, 

Gazing  on  their  glittering  wings. 

17* 


O 


198  ON  A  PICTURE. 


Rather  weigh  thy  taper  pale 
With  the  light  by  Luna  given  ; 

Will  the  heaven-ray  turn  the  scale  ? 
Will  the  earth-lamp  rise  to  heaven  1 

Love, — ethereal,  holy  Love ! 

Buoyant,  joyous,  proud,  and  free, 
Maiden,  see  !  he  soars  above 

Worldly  Pride  and  Vanity ! 

Rightly  to  its  native  earth 
Sinks  the  gilded  insect-fly  ; 

Love — of  holier,  heavenlier  birth — 
Rises  tow'rds  his  home  on  high ! 

Maiden  !  throw  the  scales  away, 
Never  weigh  poor  Love  again  ; 

Let  his  pinions  freely  play, 

Bind  him  not  with  vassal-chain  ! 

See  !  he  lifts  his  wondering  eye 
Half  reproachfully  to  thee  ; — 

Measured  with  a  butterfly ! 
I'd  take  wing  if  I  were  he  ! 


ELLEN  LEARNING  TO  WALK.  199 

If  he  must  be  proved  and  tried, 
Weigh  him  in  thine  own  true  heart, 

'Gainst  a  frowning  world  beside, — 
Wealth  and  rank  'gainst  bow  and  dart ! 

If  he  do  not  scorn  the  measure, 

Soaring  high  o'er  them  and  thee, — 

Worth  the  world  and  worldly  treasure, — 
Mark  me  !  Love  outweighs  the  three  ! 


ELLEN  LEARNING  TO  WALK. 

MY  beautiful  trembler  !  how  wildly  she  shrinks  ! 

And  how  wistful  she  looks  while  she  lingers ! 
Papa  is  extremely  uncivil,  she  thinks, — 

She  but  pleaded  for  one  of  his  fingers  ! 

What  eloquent  pleading  !  the  hand  reaching  out, 

As  if  doubting  so  strange  a  refusal ; 
While  her  blue  eyes  say  plainly,  "  What  is  he  about 

That  he  does  not  assist  me  as  usual  1" 


o 

200  ELLEN  LEARNING  TO  WALK. 

Come  on,  my  pet  Ellen  !  we  won't  let  you  slip, — 
Unclasp  those  soft  arms  from  his  knee,  love ; 

I  see  a  faint  smile  round  that  exquisite  lip, 
A  smile  half  reproach  and  half  glee,  love. 

So  !  that's  my  brave  baby  !  one  foot  falters  forward, 

Half  doubtful  the  other  steals  by  it ! 
What,  shrinking  again !  why,  you  shy  little  coward  ! 

'Twon't  kill  you  to  walk  a  bit ! — try  it ! 

There !  steady,  my  darling !  huzza !  I  have  caught 

her! 

I  clasp  her,  caress'd  and  caressing ! 
And  she  hides  her  bright  face,  as  if  what  we  had 

taught  her 
Were  something  to  blush  for — the  blessing  ! 

Now  back  again !  Bravo  !  that  shout  of  delight, 
How  it  thrills  to  the  hearts  that  adore  her  ! 

Joy,  joy  for  her  mother  !  and  blest  be  the  night, 
When  her  little  light  feet  first  upbore  her  ! 


ON  PARTING,  ETC.  201 


ON  PARTING  FOR  A  TIME  WITH  AN  INFANT'S 
PORTRAIT. 

FAIR  image  of  my  fairer  child  ! 

Full  many  a  moment's  weary  wo 
By  those  blue  eyes  has  been  beguiled ! 

How  can  I  let  my  idol  go  ] 

For  when  my  living  treasure  sleeps, 
And  hides  her  bashful  glance  of  glee, 

Thy  cherub  face  unchanging  keeps 
Its  precious  bloom  and  smiles  for  me  ! 

There  still  I  see  the  flossy  hair 

That  bathes  with  light  her  glowing  face  ; 
Her  dimpled  hands  so  round  and  fair, — 

Her  fragile  form, — her  childish  grace  ! 

Yet  go  !  and  with  those  earnest  eyes, 
O'ershadow'd  by  thy  silken  curl, 

Gaze  smiling  into  stranger-hearts, 
And  bid  them  bless  my  fairy  girl ! 


202  LUCY'S  GEM. 


LUCY'S  GEM. 

A  TRUE  STORY. 

"  YOU'VE  read,  my  pet,  in  olden  story, 
That  oft  o'er  royal  infant's  bed, 

Some  mystic  gift  of  grace  or  glory 
By  fairy  hands  was  shed. 

"  I  know  a  child  in  modern  days, 
Who,  when  a  baby,  thus  was  bless'd  ; 

But  'twas  by  One  of  rarer  skill 
Than  fays  of  old  possess'd. 

"  This  Being,  kind  as  powerful,  lent 
The  child  two  wondrous  living  gems, 

More  precious  than  the  costliest  stone 
In  Eastern  diadems. 


LUCY'S  GEM.  203 


"  And  fair  they  shone  from  morn  till  night, 
Those  treasures,  'neath  the  lifted  lid ; 

But  when  the  gems  of  Heaven  came  out, 
The  gems  of  earth  were  hid ; 

"  For  oh  !  so  delicately  wrought, 
So  dainty,  and  so  pure  were  they, 

The  lamp-light  and  the  evening  air 
Would  dim  their  azure  ray. 

"  In  each  white  case  a  magic  well, 

A  little,  fairy,  charmed  thing, 
At  times,  to  bathe  the  jewels,  pour'd 

Its  never-failing  spring. 

"  But  more  amazing  gifts  than  these, 

Each  tiny  talisman  posse ss'd  ; 
Now  was  she  not  a  favor'd  child, 

To  be  so  richly  bless'd  * 

"  No  sooner  did  she  raise  the  lid, 
Than  suddenly,  in  each  gem  of  light, 

A  perfect  little  picture  came, 
In  colors  pure  and  bright !" 


204  LUCY'S  GEM. 


"  Mamma  !  and  were  they  all  her  own  ? 

And  might  she  always  with  them  play  * 
What  color  were  the  toys,  mamma  1 

What  kind  of  stones  were  they  ?" 

"  Two  beaming  sapphires !  Heaven's  own  light 
And  color  shone  within  them  soft ; 

But  clouds  would  o'er  them  flit  at  times, 
And  dew  would  dim  them  oft. 

"  Each  in  an  ivory  casket  kept, 

Whose  lid  was  moved  on  viewless  hinge, 
With  azure  scroll-work  all  inlaid, 

And  trimm'd  with  silken  fringe. 

"  Sometimes  the  child  the  caskets  lock'd, 
And  kept  them  closed  for  many  an  hour ; 

And  none  could  lift  the  little  lids, 
Save  the  kind  Giver's  power. 

"  But  then,  when  He  commanded  her 

To  ope  each  tiny  oval  case, 
The  gems  within,  by  some  strange  charm, 

Had  gain'd  new  light  and  grace. 


205 


"  'Twas  painted  with  consummate  art, 
'Twas  copied  with  a  skill  divine, 

From  whatsoever  chanced,  just  then, 
Before  the  gem  to  shine. 

"  Was  it  a.  friend's  beloved  face  ? 

Not  Raphael's  self  the  breathing  form 
With  such  celestial  truth  could  trace, 

So  life-like,  bright,  and  warm ! 

"  Was  it  a  landscape  ?  lo  !  within 

Her  jewels  waved  the  foliage  green,— 

Hill,  river,  cot,  and  cloud,  were  there, 
And  Heaven  o'erarch'd  the  scene. 

"  All  day,  the  great,  good  sun  for  them 
New  pictures  of  delight  would  weave, 

'  The  crimson  coming  of  the  morn, 
The  funeral  pomp  of  eve.' 

"  The  tiniest  flower  that  deck'd  the  bower, 
Was  imaged  in  each  azure  gem ; 

For  them  the  rainbow  smiled  from  heaven  ; 
The  stars  came  out  for  them  ! 


206  LUCY'S  GEM. 


"  But  oh  !  most  wonderful  of  all ! 

These  faithful  friends  to  none  betray'd 
The  shifting  pageant,  as  it  pass'd, 

Save  to  the  little  maid. 

"  When  others  gazed,  they  only  saw 
A  deep  blue  light,  that  softly  smiled, 

Untroubled,  save  at  times  by  tears, 
Shed  o'er  them  by  the  child. 

"  Though  deep  within,  e'en  while  they  look'd, 

The  mimic  diorama  play'd, 
The  gazers  could  but  guess  at  it, 

It  smiled  but  on  the  maid." 

"  Mamma  !  mamma !  who  was  the  child  V 
"  Her  name,  my  love,  was  Lucy  Grey." 

"  Why  !  that's  my  name  !  you  know,  mamma, 
7've  no  such  toys  as  they  !" 

"  Indeed  you  have  !  This  very  hour, 
There  is  a  portrait  in  them  drawn 

Of  one  you  love.  Go  now,  my  child, 
And  shut  them  till  the  dawn." 


LUCY'S  GEM.  207 


"  Oh !  sweet  mamma  !  I've  caught  you  now  ; 

You  needn't  try  to  look  demure  ; 
You've  made  a  cunning  story  out ; 

But  I  am  right,  I'm  sure. 

**  Yours  is  the  portrait  painted  there, 

In  colors  beautiful  and  bright ; 
I'll  shut  you  up,  and  keep  you  in, 

To  dream  about !  Good-night !" 

"  Stay,  Lucy,  love  ;  you'll  not  forget, 
When  you  repeat  your  nightly  prayer, 

To  thank  the  Giver  of  all  good 
For  gifts  so  rich,  so  fair  V 

"  No,  dear  mamma  !  and  I  will  try- 
To  keep  my  spirit  pure  and  true, 

That  so  the  costly  gems  He  gave, 
Lose  not  their  heavenly  hue." 


208  THE  DAISY'S  MISTAKE. 


THE  DAISY'S  MISTAKE. 

A  SUNBEAM  and  zephyr  were  playing  about, 

One  spring,  ere  a  blossom  had  peep'd  from  the 

stem, 
When  they  heard,  underground,  a  faint,  fairy-like 

shout ; 
'Twas  the  voice  of  a  field-daisy  calling  to  them. 

"  Oh !  tell  me,  my  friend,  has  the  winter  gone  by  ? 

Is  it  time  to  come  up  ?  Is  the  Crocus  there  yet  ? 
I  know  you  are  sporting  above,  and  I  sigh 

To  be  with  you  and  kiss  you  ; — 'tis  long  since  we 
met! 

"  I've  been  ready  this  great  while, — all  dress'd  for 

the  show ; 
I've  a  gem  on  my  bosom  that's  pure  as  a  star ; 


THE  DAISY'S  MISTAKE.  209 

And  the  frill  of  my  robe  is  as  white  as  the  snow  ; 
And  I  mean  to  be  brighter  than  Crocuses  are." 

Now  the  zephyr  and  sunbeam  were  wild  with  de- 
light ! 
It  seem'd  a  whole  age  since  they'd  play'd  with  a 

flower ; 

So  they  told  a  great  fib  to  the  poor  little  sprite, 
That  was  languishing  down  in  her  underground 
bower. 

"  Come  out !  little  darling  !  as  quick  as  you  can  ! 

The  Crocus,  the  Cowslip,  and  Buttercup  too, 
Have  been  up  here  this  fortnight,  we're  having  grand 
times, 

And  all  of  them  hourly  asking  for  you ! 

"  The  Cowslip  is  crown'd  with  a  topaz  tiara  ; 

The  Crocus  is  flaunting  in  golden  attire  ; 
But  you,  little  pet !  are  a  thousand  times  fairer ; 

To  see  you  but  once,  is  to  love  and  admire ! 

"  The  skies  smile  benignantly  all  the  day  long ; 
The  bee  drinks  your  health  in  the  purest  of  dew  ; 

18* 


210  THE  DAISY'S  MISTAKE. 


The  lark  has  been  waiting  to  sing  you  a  song, 
Which  he  practised  in  Cloudland  on  purpose  for 
you! 

"  Come,  come  !  you  are  either  too  bashful  or  lazy  ! 

Lady  Spring  made  this  season  an  early  entree  ; 
And  she  wonderM  what  could  have  become  of  her 
Daisy  ; 

We'll  call  you  coquettish,  if  still  you  delay  !" 

Then  a  still,  small  voice,  in  the  heart  of  the  flower, 
It  was  Instinct,  whisper'd  her,  "  Do  not  go  ! 

You  had  better  be  quiet,  and  wait  your  hour  ; 
It  isn't  too  late  even  yet  for  snow  !" 

But  the  little  field-blossom  was  foolish  and  vain, 
And  she  said  to  herself,  "  What  a  belle  I  shall 

be!" 
So  she  sprang  to  the  light,  as  she  broke  from  her 

chain, 
And  gayly  she  cried,  "  I  am  free  !  I  am  free  !" 

A  shy  little  thing  is  the  Daisy,  you  know  ; 
And  she  was  half  frighten'd  to  death,  when  she 
found 


@ 


THE  DAISY'S  MISTAKE.  211 


Not  a  blossom  had  even  begun  to  blow  ! 

How  she  wish'd  herself  back  again  under  the 
ground ! 

The  tear  in  her  timid  and  sorrowful  eye 

Might  well  put  the  zephyr  and  beam  to  the  blush ; 
But  the  saucy  light  laugh'd,  and  said,  "  Pray  don't 

cry !" 

And  the  gay  zephyr  sang  to  her,  "  Hush,  sweet, 
hush!" 

They  kiss'd  her  and  petted  her  fondly  at  first ; 

But  a  storm  arose,  and  the  false  light  fled  ; 
And  the  zephyr  changed  into  angry  breeze, 

That  scolded  her  till  she  was  almost  dead ! 

The  gem  on  her  bosom  was  stain'd  and  dark, 
The  snow  of  her  robe  had  lost  its  light, 

And  tears  of  sorrow  had  dimm'd  the  spark 
Of  beauty  and  youth,  that  made  her  bright ! 

And  so  she  lay  with  her  fair  head  low, 
And  mournfully  sigh'd  in  her  dying  hour, 

"  Ah  !  had  I  courageously  answer'd  '  no  !' 
I  had  now  been  safe  in  my  native  bower !" 


-© 


212  THE  LIFE-VOYAGE. 


THE  LIFE-VOYAG-E. 


ONCE  in  the  olden  time  there  dwelt, 

Beside  the  sounding  sea, 
A  little  maid — her  garb  was  coarse, 

Her  spirit  pure  and  free. 

Her  parents  were  an  humble  twain, 
And  poor  as  poor  could  be  ; 

Yet  gayly  sang  the  guileless  child, 
Beside  the  sounding  sea. 

The  hut  was  bare,  and  scant  the  fare, 

And  hard  her  little  bed  ; 
But  she  was  rich  !     A  single  gem 

Its  beauty  round  her  shed. 


THE  LIFE-VOYAGE.  213 

She  walk'd  in  light ! — 'twas  all  her  wealth — 

That  pearl,  whose  lustrous  glow 
Made  her  white  forehead  dazzling  fair, 

And  pure  as  sunlit  snow. 

Her  parents  died  !     With  tears  she  cried, 

"  God  will  my  father  be  !" 
Then  launch'd  alone  her  shallop  light, 

And  bravely  put  to  sea. 

The  sail  she  set  was  virgin-white, 

As  inmost  lily  leaf, 
And  angels  whisper'd  her  from  Heaven, 

To  loose  it  or  to  reef. 

And  ever  on  the  dancing  prow 

One  glorious  brilliant  burn'd, 
By  whose  clear  ray  she  read  her  way, 

And  every  danger  learn'd  : 

For  she  had  hung  her  treasure  there, 

Her  heaven-illumined  pearl ! 
And  so  she  steer'd  her  lonely  bark, 

That  fair  and  guileless  girl ! 


214  THE  LIFE-VOYAGE. 

The  wind  was  fresh,  the  sails  were  free, 
High  dash'd  the  diamond  spray, 

And  merrily  leaping  o'er  the  sea, 
The  light  skiff  left  the  bay  ! 

But  soon  false,  evil  spirits  came, 
And  strove,  with  costly  lure, 

To  bribe  her  maiden  heart  to  shame, 
And  win  her  jewel  pure. 

They  swarm'd  around  the  fragile  boat, 
They  brought  her  diamonds  rare, 

To  glisten  on  her  graceful  throat, 
And  bind  her  flowing  hair  ! 

They  brought  her  gold  from  Afric-land, 
And  from  the  sea-king's  throne 

They  pilfer'd  gems,  to  grace  her  hand 
And  clasp  her  virgin  zone. 

But  still  she  shook  the  silken  curl 
Back  from  her  beaming  eyes, 

And  cried — "  I  bear  my  spotless  pearl 
Home,  home  to  yonder  skies  ! 


THE  LIFE-VOYAGE.  215 

"  Now  shame  ye  not  your  ocean  gems 

And  Eastern  gold  to  show  1 
Behold  !  how  mine  outburns  them  all ! 

God's  smile  is  in. its  glow !" 

Fair  blows  the  wind,  the  sail  swells  free, 

High  shoots  the  diamond  spray, 
And  merrily  o'er  the  murmuring  sea 

The  light  boat  leaps  away ! 

They  swarm'd  around  the  fragile  bark, 

They  strove  with  costlier  lure 
To  bribe  her  maiden  heart  to  shame, 

And  win  her  jewel  pure. 

"  We  bring  thee  rank — we  bring  thee  power — 

We  bring  thee  pleasures  free — 
No  empress,  in  her  silk-hung  bower, 

May  queen  her  realm  like  thee  ! 

"  Now  yield  us  up  the  one  white  pearl ! 

'Tis  but  a  star,  whose  ray 
Will  fail  thee,  rash,  devoted  girl, 

When  tempests  cloud  thy  way." 


216  THE  LIFE-VOYAGE. 

But  still  she  smiled  a  loftier  smile, 
And  raised  her  frank,  bright  eyes, 

And  cried — "  I  bear  my  vestal  star 
Home,  home  to  yonder  skies  !" 

The  wind  is  fresh — the  sail  swells  free — 
High  shoots  the  diamond  spray  ! 

And  merrily  o'er  the  moaning  sea 
The  light  boat  leaps  away  ! 

Suddenly,  stillness  broods  around, 

A  stillness  as  of  death, 
Above,  below — no  motion,  sound  ! 

Hardly  a  struggling  breath  ! 

Then  wild  and  fierce  the  tempest  came, 
The  dark  wind-demons  clash'd 

Their  weapons  swift — the  air  was  flame  ! 
The  waves  in  madness  dash'd  ! 

They  swarm'd  around  the  tossing  boat — 
"  Wilt  yield  thy  jewel  now  ? 

Look  !  look !  already  drench'd  in  spray, 
It  trembles  at  the  prow. 


THE  LIFE-VOYAGE.  217 

"  Be  ours  the  gem  !  and  safely  launch'd 

Upon  a  summer  sea, 
Where  never  cloud  may  frown  in  heaven, 

Thy  pinnace  light  shall  be  !" 

But  still  she  smiled  a  fearless  smile, 

And  raised  her  trusting  eyes, 
And  cried — "  I  bear  my  talisman 

Home,  home  to  yonder  skies !" 

And  safe  through  all  that  blinding  storm 

The  true  bark  floated  on, 
And  soft  its  pearl-illumined  prow 

Through  all  the  tumult  shone  ! 

An  angel,  guided  through  the  clouds 

By  that  most  precious  light, 
Flew  down  the  fairy  helm  to  take, 

And  steer  the  boat  aright. 

Then  died  the  storm  upon  the  sea ! 

High  dash'd  the  diamond  spray, 
And  merrily  leaping  light  and  free, 

The  shallop  sail'd  away. 


218  THE  LIFE-VOYAGE. 

And  meekly,  when  at  eve  her  bark 

Its  destined  port  had  found, 
She  moor'd  it  by  the  mellow  spark 

Her  jewel  shed  around  ! 

Wouldst  know  the  name  the  maiden  wore 
'Twas  Innocence — like  thine  ! 

Wouldst  know  the  pearl  she  nobly  bore  ? 
'Twas  Truth — a  gem  divine  ! 

Thou  hast  the  jewel — keep  it  bright, 

Undimm'd  by  mortal  fear, 
And  bathe  each  stain  upon  its  light 

With  Grief's  repentant  tear  ! 

Still  shrink  from  falsehood's  fairest  guise, 

By  flattery  unbeguiled  ! 
Still  let  thy  heart  speak  from  thine  eyes, 

My  pure  and  simple  child ! 


THE  CHILD  AND  ITS  ANGEL-PLAYMATE.    219 


THE  CHILD  AND  ITS  ANGEL-PLAYMATE. 

"  MY  child  !  thou  droopest  like  a  flower 
That  trembles  'neath  the  summer  shower, 
And  day  by  day,  and  hour  by  hour, 

More  faint  thy  meek  replying 
To  tender  questionings  of  mine  ; 
A  dreamy  sorrow,  half  divine, 
Fills  those  dark  eyes,  that  strangely  shine 

My  child,  my  child  !  thou'rt  dying  !" 

"  Sweet  mother — no  :  but  by  my  side, 

Where'er  I  go,"  the  child  replied, 

"  Through  all  this  glorious  summer-tide, 

Is  one  you  cannot  see — 
A  little  child  with  sunny  wings, 
And  eyes  like  Heaven  ; — of  holy  things, 
With  earnest  voice,  it  talks  and  sings — 

And  softly  plays  with  me  ! 


220    THE  CHILD  AND  ITS  ANGEL-PLAYMATE, 


"  '  Let  us  go  home !'  it  warbles  low ; 
And  when  I  say — '  I  dare  not  so  ! 
My  home  is  here,'  it  whispers — '  No ! 

Fair  child  !  thy  home  is  mine !' 
And  then,  of  some  far  lovelier  land 
It  fondly  tells,  where  many  a  band 
Of  blissful  children,  hand  in  hand, 

With  sportive  fondness  twine. 

"  It  says  they  know  not  how  to  sigh, 
For  nothing  there  can  droop  and  die  ; 
But  bloom  immortal  glads  the  eye, 

And  music  wondrous  sweet 
Doth  ebb  and  flow,  without  alloy, 
From  lyres  of  light,  while  Love  and  Joy 
Time  to  the  tune,  their  blest  employ, 

With  weariless  winged  feet ! 

"  A  purer  prayer  it  teaches  me 
Than  that  I  idly  learn'd  of  thee  ; 
It  softens  all  my  thoughtless  glee, 

It  makes  me  true  and  kind. 
My  angel-playmate !  most  I  fear, 
'Twill  wave  its  wings  and  leave  me  here ! 
'  Thou'lt  miss  me  in  that  holier  sphere  ! 

Oh  !  leave  me  not  behind  !' 


THE  CHILD  AND  ITS  ANGEL-PLAYMATE.    221 

"  It  says  this  is  not  life,  but  death, 
A  daily  waste  of  mortal  breath, 
And  still  its  sweet  voice  summoneth 

Me  to  that  other  land ; 
But  even  while  it  whispers  so, 
The  flowers  around  more  brightly  glow, 
And  yet — and  yet,  I  pine  to  go, 

And  join  that  joyous  band ! 

"  My  mother  !  I'll  come  often  back  ; 
I'll  not  forget  the  homeward  track, 
But  oft  when  Pain  and  Sorrow  rack 

Thy  frame,  I'll  hover  o'er  thee  ; 
I'll  sing  thee  every  soothing  lay 
I  learn  in  heaven  ; — I'll  lead  the  way 
For  thee  to  God  ; — my  wings  shall  play 

In  dreams  of  light  before  thee ! 

"  Oh !  mother !  even  now  I  hear 
Melodious  murmurs  in  my  ear  ; 
The  child — the  angel-child  is  near ! 

I  see  its  light  wings  glow ! 
I  see  its  pure  and  pleading  smile ! 
It  moves  beside  me  all  the  while, 
Its  eyes  my  yearning  soul  beguile, 

Sweet  mother  !  let  me  go  ! 

19* 


222    THE  CHILD  AND  ITS  ANGEL-PLAYMATE. 

"  Hark  to  their  plaintive  spirit-strain ! 
*  Let  us  go  home  !'  again — again 
It  rises  soft — that  sad  refrain  ! 

My  playmate  !  stay  for  me  ! 
It  clasps  my  hand  !     It  warbles  low — 
'  Let  us  go  home  !'     I  go — I  go  ! 
My  pinions  play — with  heavenly  glow — 

My  mother — I  am  free  !" 

The  fair  child  lay  upon  her  breast, 

As  if  in  its  accustom'd  rest, 

A  slumbering  dove  within  its  nest. 

But  well  the  mother  knew 
That  never  more  that  pure  blue  eye 
To  hers  would  speak  the  soul's  reply ; 
"  She  is  not  dead — she  could  not  die  ! 

My  child  in  heaven !  adieu !" 


A  SONG.  223 


A  SONG. 

YES  !  "  lower  to  the  level" 

Of  those  who  laud  thee  now  ! 
Go  !  join  the  joyous  revel, 

And  pledge  the  heartless  vow  ! 
Go  !  dim  the  soul-born  beauty 
That  lights  that  lofty  brow ! 
Fill,  fill  the  bowl !  let  burning  wine 
Drown,  in  thy  soul,  Love's  dream  divine ! 

Yet  when  the  laugh  is  lightest, 
When  wildest  goes  the  jest, 
When  gleams  the  goblet  brightest, 
And  proudest  heaves  thy  breast, 
And  thou  art  madly  pledging 

Each  gay  and  jovial  guest, — 
A  ghost  shall  glide  amid  the  flowers — 
The  shade  of  Love's  departed  hours ! 


224  A  SONG. 


And  thou  shalt  shrink  in  sadness 

From  all  the  splendor  there, 
And  curse  the  revel's  gladness, 
And  hate  the  banquet's  glare, 
And  pine,  'mid  Passion's  madness, 

For  true  Love's  purer  air, 
And  feel  thou'dst  give  their  wildest  glee 
For  one  unsullied  sigh  from  me  ! 

Yet  deem  not  this  my  prayer,  love, 

Ah !  no  !  if  I  could  keep 
Thy  alter'd  heart  from  care,  love, 

And  charm  its  griefs  to  sleep, 
Mine  only  should  despair,  love, 

I — I  alone  would  weep  ! 
I — I  alone  would  mourn  the  flowers 
That  fade  in  Love's  deserted  bowers  ! 


225 


A  MOTHER'S  PRAYER  IN  ILLNESS. 

YES  !  take  them  first,  my  Father  !    Let  my  doves 
Fold  their  white  wings  in  Heaven,  safe  on  thy  breast, 
Ere  I  am  call'd  away  !  I  dare  not  leave 
Their  young  hearts  here,  their  innocent,  thoughtless 

hearts ! 

Ah  !  how  the  shadowy  train  of  future  ills 
Comes  sweeping  down  life's  vista  as  I  gaze  ! 

My  May  !  my  careless,  ardent-temper'd  May ! 
My  frank  and  frolic  child !  in  whose  blue  eyes 
Wild  joy  and  passionate  wo  alternate  rise  ; 
Whose  cheek,  the  morning  in  her  soul  illumes ; 
Whose  little,  loving  heart,  a  word,  a  glance, 
Can  sway  to  grief  or  glee  ;  who  leaves  her  play, 
And  puts  up  her  sweet  mouth  and  dimpled  arms, 
Each  moment  for  a  kiss,  and  softly  asks, 
With  her  clear,  flute-like  voice,  "  Do  you  love  me  1" 
Ah !  let  me  stay  !  ah !  let  me  still  be  by, 


226       A  MOTHER'S  PRAYER  IN  ILLNESS. 

To  answer  her  and  meet  her  warm  caress ! 

For  I  away,  how  oft  in  this  rough  world, 

That  earnest  question  will  be  ask'd  in  vain ! 

How  oft  that  eager,  passionate,  petted  heart, 

Will  shrink  abash'd  and  chill'd,  to  learn  at  length 

The  hateful,  withering  lesson  of  distrust ! 

Ah  !  let  her  nestle  still  upon  this  breast, 

In  which  each  shade,  that  dims  her  darling  face, 

Is  felt  and  answer'd,  as  the  lake  reflects 

The  clouds  that  cross  yon  smiling  heaven !  and  thou — 

My  modest  Ellen !  tender,  thoughtful,  true  ; 

Thy  soul  attuned  to  all  sweet  harmonies ; 

My  pure,  proud,  noble  Ellen  !  with  thy  gifts 

Of  genius,  grace,  and  loveliness,  half  hidden 

'Neath  the  soft  veil  of  innate  modesty, 

How  will  the  world's  wild  discord  reach  thy  heart 

To  startle  and  appal !  thy  generous  scorn 

Of  all  things  base  and  mean — thy  quick,  keen  taste* 

Dainty  and  delicate — thy  instinctive  feai 

Of  those  unworthy  of  a  soul  so  pure, 

Thy  rare,  unchildlike  dignity  of  mien, 

All — they  will  all  bring  pain  to  thee,  my  child ! 

And  oh  !  if  even  their  grace  and  goodness  meet 

Cold  looks  and  careless  greetings,  how  will  all 

The  latent  evil  yet  undisciplined 


TO .  227 

In  their  young,  timid  souls,  forgiveness  find  i; 
Forgiveness,  and  forbearance,  and  soft  chidings, 
Which  I — their  mother — learn'd  of  Love  to  give  ! 
Ah  !  let  me  stay  ! — albeit  my  heart  is  weary, 
Weary  and  worn,  tired  of  its  own  sad  beat, 
That  finds  no  echo  in  this  busy  world 
Which  cannot  pause  to  answer — tired  alike 
Of  joy  and  sorrow — of  the  day  and  night ! 
Ah  !  take  them  first,  my  Father  !  and  then  me  ; 
And  for  their   sakes — for   their   sweet   sakes,   my 

Father! 
Let  me  find  rest  beside  them,  at  thy  feet ! 


TO 


LET  your  summer  friends  go  by 
With  the  summer  weather  ! 

Hearts  there  are  that  will  not  fly, 
Tho'  the  storm  should  gather. 


228  TO . 

Summer  love  to  fortune  clings, 
From  the  wreck  it  saileth, 

Like  the  bee,  that  spreads  its  wings 
When  the  honey  faileth. 

Rich  the  soil  where  weeds  appear ; — 
Let  their  false  bloom  perish  ! 

Flowers  there  are,  more  rare  and  dear, 
That  you  still  may  cherish. 

Flowers  of  feeling,  pure  and  warm, 
Hearts  that  cannot  wither, 

These  for  thee  shall  bide  the  storm, 
As  the  sunny  weather. 


AN  ALLEGORY.  229 


TRIUMPH    OF    THE    SPIRITUAL    OVER    THE 
SENSUAL. 

AN  ALLEGORY. 

NEAR  a  being  on  the  verge  of  manhood, 

In  a  waking  vision,  I  behold 
Two  fair  figures, — one  is  lowly  kneeling, 

At  his  feet,  with  loosen'd  locks  of  gold, 
Down  her  white,  half-veiled  bosom,  stealing, 

O'er  her  warm  cheek,  in  soft  tresses,  roll'd, 
Link'd  with  many  a  burning  gem,  revealing 

Radiant  colors  through  each  silken  fold. 

One  soft,  dimpled  hand  uplifts  a  chalice, 
Richly  chased,  and  starr'd  with  rubies  rare, 

While  the  other  points  towards  a  palace, 
Rising  like  a  dream  upon  the  air ! 


)= 


230  AN  ALLEGORY. 


Wild  blue  eyes,  where  passion  blends  with  malice, 
Red,  ripe  lips, — Temptation  triumphs  there  ! 

Or  if  thence  the  tried  heart  proudly  rallies, 
In  her  form,  voluptuously  fair, 

Grace,  so  tenderly  alluring,  dallies, 

With  her  captive,  that  he  loves  the  snare. 

Loose  her  gorgeous  robe,  her  feet  are  bare  ! — 

Thus  the  charmer  sings,  with  wooing  air, — 

Taste  the  goblet !  beauteous  mortal ! 

Quickly  taste,  and  fly  with  me ! 
Yonder  gleams  the  golden  portal 

Of  a  mansion  made  for  thee. 
There  will  Pleasure's  downy  pillow 

Woo  thee  to  luxurious  rest ; 
There  will  Trouble's  stormy  billow 

Never  fret  thy  charmed  breast ! 
Beauty  there  shall  bless  the  hours, 

Flitting  by  on  balmy  wing  ; 
Joy  shall  bind  thy  brow  with  flowers ; 

Hope  of  new  delights  shall  sing. 
Drain  the  goblet !  beauteous  mortal ! 

Quickly  drain  !  and  fly  with  me ! 
Yonder  gleams  the  radiant  portal 

Of  the  mansion  wrought  for  thee  ! 


AN  ALLEGORY.  231 


From  his  trance  of  rapture,  wildly  waking, 

Lo  !  the  lost,  infatuated  boy, 
Flush'd  with  hope,  the  fatal  chalice  taking, 

Bends  to  quaff, — his  ruin,  in  his  joy  ! 
Hark !  those  tones,  melodiously  breaking 

O'er  his  soul,  the  sinful  spell  destroy ! 

Turning  now,  he  sees  a  veiled  vision, 
That  has  stood  beside  him  all  the  while  ; 

Beauty  dawning,  with  a  light  elysian, 

Through  the  snowy  gauze,  as  morning's  smile 

Glows  and  glistens  'neath  her  wreathed  mist, 

All  the  lovelier  for  that  shade,  I  wist. 

Veil'd  from  head  to  foot, — her  fair  arms  folding 
With  a  sweet  composure  on  her  breast, 

And  a  cross  of  pearl,  serenely  holding 

In  her  hand,  with  tender  reverence  press'd  : 

One  soft-gleaming  star,  amid  the  braiding 
Of  her  raven  hair,  her  brow  illumes  ; 

Beautiful,  exceedingly,  the  shading 

Of  the  rose,  that  on  her  pure  cheek  blooms ! 

Like  the  music-fall  of  water  playing, 
Freshly  in  the  burning  summer-tide, 


n 

232  AN  ALLEGORY. 


With  delicious  melody,  allaying 

All  his  feverish  ecstasy  and  pride — 

Thrilling,  low,  unutterably  sweet, 

Came  her  pure,  soft  tones,  with  angel  pleading, 
While  his  heart  to  each  clear  cadence  beat, 

Quick,  in  glad  reply,  all  else  unheeding. 

Boy,  refrain  !  the  poison,  breathing 
From  the  goblet,  clouds  thy  soul ! 

Lo  !  the  golden  serpent,  wreathing 
Round  the  brim  with  glittering  roll, 

Emblem  of  the  death  within, 

Know'st  thou  not  it  tempts  to  sin  ? 

Boy,  beware  !  7  may  not  offer 

Joy  unearn'd  by  toil  of  thine  ; 
Wealth,  with  lock'd  and  laden  coffer, 

Luxury's  pillow  are  not  mine. 
But  if  thou,  with  trust  confiding, 

High  and  fervent  walk  with  me, 
Holiest  comfort — peace  abiding, 

Thine  thro'  trials  dark,  shall  be ! 
Like  the  mystic  steps  in  air, 

That  th'  Egyptian  pupil  trod, 


AN  ALLEGORY.  233 


Fast  as  one  wish  fades,  a  higher 
Shall  but  lead  thee  nearer  God  ! 

Boy,  be  mine  !  beneath  our  feet 

Desert  wastes  shall  bloom  with  flowers, 

Sorrow's  self  shall  seem  most  sweet, 
While  Hope's  rainbow  lights  her  showers. 

Troops  of  angels,  only  known 

By  their  choral  music-tide, 
(Ebb  and  flow)  with  softest  tone, 

Shall  beside  thee  viewless  glide ! 

Every  warbler  of  the  wild-wood 
On  its  voice  shall  waft  thy  soul, 

Back  thro'  all  the  dreams  of  childhood, 
To  the  Heaven-home  whence  it  stole. 

From  each  blossom  Spring  shall  bring  thee 
Some  sweet  lesson  thou'lt  command, 

Even  the  winding  shell  shall  sing  thee 
Echoes  from  the  spirit-land  ! 

Glory  waits  thee,  glad  immortal ! 
Take  thy  cross  and  go  with  me  ! 


234  PURITY'S  PEARL. 

Stars  shall  light  the  viewless  portal 
Of  the  mansion  made  for  thee  ! 

Softly,  with  that  last  word,  died  away 

Voice  and  vision,  from  my  dreaming  sense  ; 
But  the  youth  rose,  ere  she  closed  the  lay, 

And  with  eyes  illumed  by  thought  intense, 
Placed  his  hand  in  hers,  that  she  should  lead  him 
thence. 


PURITY'S  PEARL ; 

OR,  THE  HISTORY  OF  A  TEAR, 

A  MAIDEN,  one  summer's  day,  over  Life's  sea, 

In  a  pleasure-boat  swiftly  sailing, 
Gazed  back  on  the  bowers  of  her  childhood  free, 

That  were  dim  in  the  distance  failing. 
She  had  clasp'd  her  zone  with  a  brilliant  stone, 

In  tint  like  the  plume  of  a  Lory, 
Through  its  heart  the  blush  of  the  dawn  had  shone, 

And  left  it  in  all  its  glory. 


PURITY'S  PEARL.  235 


"  False,  false  the  talisman  !"  cries  the  girl, 

"  From  my  bosorn  the  gem  I  sever ! 
Oh  !  give  me  back  purity's  snow-white  pearl, 

And  away  with  Love's  Ruby  for  ever !" 
A  tear,  as  she  spoke,  dimm'd  her  eye's  blue  fire, 

And  fell  in  the  foaming  water, 
And  hark  !  at  the  moment,  an  angel-lyre 

Sounds  the  name  of  earth's  sorrowing  daughter : — 
'Tis  the  spirit  of  mercy  floats  from  Heaven, 

Like  light  thro'  the  waves  descending, 
And  the  penitent  feels  her  fault  forgiven, 

While  smiles  with  her  tears  are  blending. 
And  long  ere  that  frail  bark  reach'd  the  shore, 

Fair  Mercy,  her  pledge  redeeming, 
Stole  up  thro'  the  moonlit  sea  once  more, 

With  a  pearl  in  her  soft  hand  beaming. 
"  I  bring  thee  back  Purity's  gem  of  Snow ! 

'Tis  thy  tear  of  remorse  and  devotion, 
Transform'd  to  a  pearl,  in  the  wondrous  flow 

Of  Time's  mysterious  ocean." 
And  the  maiden  has  bound  her  zone  again, 

With  the  treasure  she  prized  so  truly, 
And  safe  is  her  bark  on  the  fathomless  main, 

For  her  talisman  keeps  it  holy  ! 


236  TO 


TO . 

You  are  not  what  you  used  to  be, 
When  we  were  merry  girls  ; 

Your  hair, — that  floated  then  so  free, 
In  wild  aerial  curls, 

Or  drooping,  from  your  forehead  meek, 

In  beautiful  repose, — 
Lay  light  and  soft  upon  your  cheek — 

A  shadow  on  the  rose  ! — 

Is  parted,  with  Madonna  grace, 

Above  a  sadden'd  brow, 
And  shades  a  calm  and  thoughtful  face, 

That  wears  no  rose-bloom  now ! 

You  are  not  what  you  used  to  be  ; 

Your  girlhood's  lightsome  mood, 
Your  springing  step  and  tone  of  glee, 

Are  soften'd  and  subdued. 


TO .  237 

You  are  not  what  you  used  to  be  ; 

But  oh  !  how  much  more  worth, 
Than  that  light  thing  of  frolic  free, 

The  wildest  girl  on  earth  ! 

Forever — as  the  joyous  play 

Of  bloom  and  light  has  faded, 
And  tint  by  tint,  and  ray  by  ray, 

By  care  has  been  o'ershaded, — 

You  have  been  gathering  holier  wealth 

Within — a  store  of  treasures  ! 
Flowers,  fairer  than  the  Rose  of  Health, 

And  rays,  more  rich  than  Pleasure's  ! 

And  while  the  worthless  splendor  stole, 

Unheeded,  from  those  eyes, 
A  lamp  was  lighted  in  your  soul — 

A  star  that  never  dies  ! 

You  are  not  what  you  used  to  be ; 

But  you  are  less  of  earth, 
And  richer,  in  your  want  of  glee, 

Than  others,  in  their  mirth ! 


238  LINES.  ETC. 


LINES  FROM  A  SCHOOL-GIRL  TO  A  NEW  FRIEND. 

WILL  you  let  me  love  you,  Fanny  1 

There  are  very  few 
In  my  soul's  still  temple  cherish'd — 

May  it  cherish  you  1 
Many  make  a  fleeting  visit, 

Wearying  ere  long — 
Far  too  wild  and  dreamy  is  it, 

For  the  worldly  throng. 

But  if  you  will  come  and  rest 

In  its  dim  recesses, 
It  will  give  its  stranger-guest 

Welcome  and  caresses. 
Gentle  is  the  group  you'll  meet ; 

Pray  do  not  refuse  them  ; 
They  will  always  love  you,  sweet ; 

Let  me  introduce  them  ! 


LINES,  ETC.  239 


You  will  see  their  faces  only — 

Angels  are  drawn  so  ; 
And  the  heart  makes  angels  ever 

Of  its  friends,  you  know. 
One  with  eyes  like  starlit  clouds, 

Beautiful  as  truth, 
In  whose  face  her  rich  soul  smiles 

With  undying  youth. 

Then  with  brown  and  braided  hair. 

Head  of  classic  grace, 
Brow  serene,  and  tranquil  eyes, 

Comes  a  seraph  face. 
You  can  see  that  she  has  sorrow'd, 

From  the  world  apart : 
Pure  and  lovely  as  her  forehead, 

So  the  maiden's  heart. 

Next  with  glance  upraised,  inspired, 

Music  in  her  eyes, 
Soft  in  grief — in  passion  fired — 

See  Julie  arise  ! 
On  her  cheek  unearthly  bloom ; 

Round  her  brow  so  fair, 


240  LINES,   ETC. 


Glossy  as  a  raven's  plume, 
Sweeps  her  wealth  of  hair. 

Next  appears  my  pride  and  idol, 

One,  within  whose  soul 
Love  and  Truth  have  met  in  bridal, 

Free  from  earth's  control. 
Guileless,  trusting  as  a  child, 

Playful,  dauntless,  daring, 
Full  of  romance,  high  and  wild, 

Ne'er  in  wo  despairing ! 

Far  apart  from  all  and  hidden — 

Frowning  on  them  too, 
There  is  one,  who  came  unbidden, 

That  is — you  know  who  ! 
Now  you'll  let  me  love  you,  Fanny  ! 

Since  you  see  how  few 
In  my  heart's  far  depths  are  treasured, 

Let  it  treasure  you  ! 


HEAVEN  IS  OVER  ALL.  241 


rc  . 


HEAVEN  IS  OVER  ALL. 

IN  weary  paths,  my  precious  boy, 

Your  faltering  feet  must  fall ; 
But  bear  in  mind,  where'er  you  go, 

That  Heaven  is  over  all ! 

You're  tripping  thro'  a  garden  now, 
Where  childhood  loves  to  play, 

And  kind  hands  pull  the  flowers  for  you, 
And  throw  the  thorns  away  ; 

And  softly  falls  the  tender  light—- 
The breeze — 'tis  joy  to  breathe  it ! 

And  if,  perchance,  a  shower  descends, 
New  blossoms  wake  beneath  it ; 

But  by  and  by  you'll  leave  your  bower, 

And  "  go  your  ways"  alone, 
With  but  a  chance  companion,  love, 

Across  your  pathway  thrown  ; 

21 


242  HEAVEN  IS  OVER  ALL. 

And  sometimes  in  the  desert  bare, 
Grief's  bitter  tears  must  fall ; 

But  bear  in  mind,  my  boy,  e'en  there, 
That  Heaven  is  over  all ! 

And  sometimes  over  flinty  rocks 
Your  tender  feet  must  stray  ; 

And  sometimes  in  a  tangled  wood 
You'll  almost  lose  your  way  ; 

And  oft  you'll  sigh  for  Childhood's  home, 
When  gloomy  scenes  appal, — 

Oh  !  bear  in  mind,  where'er  you  roam, 
That  Heaven  is  over  all ! 

Be  sure  a  sunbeam,  thro'  that  wood, 
Will  light  you  on  your  way  ; 

Be  sure,  within  that  solitude, 
Some  living  fount  will  play. 

And  tho'  the  flinty  rock  should  fret 
Full  long  your  weary  feet, 

There's  moss  upon  its  bosom  yet, 
Will  make  a  pillow  sweet : 


HEAVEN  IS  OVER  ALL.  243 

And  now  and  then  a  balmy  air 

Will  float  with  soft  perfume, 
And  lovely  blossoms,  here  and  there, 

Will  bless  you  with  their  bloom  : 

But  if  the  clouds  should  hide  the  sky, 

And  blinding  rain  should  fall, 
Remember,  God  is  always  nigh, 

And  Heaven  is  over  all ! 

Now — now,  while  yet  in  Childhood's  bower, 

With  that  wild  way  in  view, 
Oh !  put  your  little  hand  in  His, 

And  He  will  lead  you  through ! 

For  if,  with  pure  and  patient  heart, 

With  firm  resolve  and  high, 
You  tread  the  path  appointed,  love, 

And  pass  Temptation  by, 

A  fairer  home  than  Childhood's  home, 

A  fonder  love  than  ours, 
Await  you  at  your  journey's  end, 

In  Heaven's  own  balmy  bowers. 


244  THE  MORNING  WALK. 

Where'er  you  go — in  weal  or  wo, 
Whatever  fate  befall, 

In  sunny  glade,  in  forest  shade, 
A  Heaven  is  over  all ! 


THE  MORNING-  WALK,  OR  THE  STOLEN  BLUSH 
A  LOVER'S  LAY. 

NEVER  tell  me  that  cheek  is  not  painted,  false  maid  ! 

'Tis  a  fib,  tho'  your  pretty  lip  pouts  while  I  say  it ; 
And  if  the  cheat  were  not  already  betray'd, 

Those  exquisite  blushes  themselves  would  betray  it. 

But  listen  !  this  morning  you  rose  ere  the  dawn, 
To  keep  an  appointment  perhaps — with  Apollo  ? 

And  finding  a  fairy  foot-print  on  the  lawn, 

Which  I  could  not  mistake,  I  determined  to  fol- 
low. 


THE  MORNING  WALK.  245 

To  the  hill-side  I  track'd  it,  and  tripping  above  me, 
Her  sun-ringlets  flying  and  jewell'd  with  dew, 

A  maiden  I  saw  ! — now  the  truth,  if  you  love  me — 
But  why  should  I  question — I'm  sure  it  was  you  ! 

And  you  cannot  deny  you  were  met  in  ascending, — 

I  meanwhile  pursuing  my  truant  by  stealth, — 
By  a  blooming  young  seraph,  who  turn'd,  and  attend- 
ing 

Your  steps,  said  her  name  was  "the  Spirit  of 
Health." 

Meantime,  thro'  the  mist  of  transparent  vermilion 
That  suddenly  flooded  the  brow  of  the  hill, 

All  fretted  with  gold,  rose  Aurora's  pavilion, 
Illumining  meadow,  and  mountain,  and  rill. 

And  Health,  floating  up  through  the  luminous  air, 
Dipp'd  her  fingers  of  snow  in  those  clouds  glow- 
ing bright ; 

Then  turn'd  and  dash'd  down,  o'er  her  votary  fair, 
A  handful  of  rose-beams  that  bathed  her  in  light. 

Even  yet  they're  at  play  here  and  there  in  your  form, 
Thro'  your  fingers  they  steal  to  the  white  taper  tips, 


246  THE  HALF-BLOWN  ROSE. 

Now  rush  to  that  cheek  its  soft  dimples  to  warm, 
Now  deepen  the  crimson  that  lives  in  your  lips. 

Will  you  tell  me  again,  with  that  scorn-lighted  eye, 
That  you  do  not  use  paint — while  such  tinting  is 

there  1 
While  the  glow  still  affirms  what  the  glance  would 

deny  ? 
No  !  in  future  disclaim  the  sweet  theft  if  you  dare  ! 


THE  HALF-BLOWN  ROSE. 

SUGGESTED  BY  A  PORTRAIT. 

'Tis  just  the  flower  she  ought  to  wear, — 
The  simple  flower  the  painter  chose  ; 

And  are  they  not  a  charming  pair — 
The  modest  girl — the  half-blown  rose  ? 


THE  HALF-BLOWN  ROSE.  247 

The  glowing  bud  has  stolen  up 

With  tender  smile  and  blushing  grace, 

And  o'er  its  mossy  clasping  cup 
In  bashful  pride  reveals  its  face. 

The  maiden  too,  with  timid  feet, 

Has  sprung  from  childhood's  verdant  bower, 
And  lightly  left  its  limit  sweet, 

For  woman's  lot  of  shine  and  shower. 

See  !  from  its  veil  of  silken  hair, 

That  bathes  her  cheek  in  clusters  bright, 

Her  sweet  face,  like  a  blossom  fair, 
Reveals  its  wealth  of  bloom  and  light. 

How  softly  blends  with  childhood's  smile 
That  maiden-mien  of  pure  repose  ! 

Oh  !  seems  she  not  herself  the  while — 
A  breathing  flower — a  half-blown  rose  ? 


248     THE  HOUR  BEFORE  THE  DUEL. 


THE  HOUR  BEFORE  THE  DUEL. 

Too  late — too  late — ye  steal  before  me, 
Fond  thoughts  of  home,  of  love  and  joy ! 

The  wings  of  fate  close  darkening  o'er  me — 
Oh  God !  my  wife  !  my  boy ! 

My  own  sweet  wife  !  I  see  thy  face — 
Thy  pure,  young  face  upraised  to  mine, 

Thy  glossy  ringlets'  waving  grace, 
Thy  blush,  thy  smile  divine  ! 

Thy  pleading  eyes,  that  droop'd  like  flowers 
Beneath  a  cloud,  when  I  was  cold — 

Oh  !  to  win  back  the  wasted  hours, 
My  brief  life's  lavish'd  gold  ! 

My  child  !  my  heart's  own  hope  and  pride, 
My  dark-eyed,  blooming,  glorious  boy  ! 

Thou  comest — Heaven  !  in  mercy  hide 
That  gaze  of  thoughtless  joy  ! 


THE  HOUR  BEFORE  THE  DUEL.     249 

Yes,  Honor !  'gainst  thine  idle  name, 
A  bubble  that  a  breath  may  break, 

To  'scape  the  knave's  or  fool's  false  blame, 
THEIR  happiness  I  stake. 

I  yield  to  thee  my  hope,  my  love, 
HER  life  that  yet  in  joy  has  smiled, 

My  peace  on  earth — my  bliss  above — 
Oh  God  !  my  wife  and  child  ! 

I'll  dream  no  more  !  I'll  nerve  my  soul — 
Hurrah  !  the  wild — the  magic  wine  ! 

Fill  up — fill  high — the  glorious  bowl ! 
Drown  care  in  draughts  divine  ! 

The  past — the  future  !  hence,  away  ! 

Fears,  dreams,  and  doubts — my  spirit's  strife — 
I  dare  not  think,  or  feel,  or  pray — 

Oh  God  !  my  boy — my  wife  ! 


250    SHE  SAYS  SHE  LOVES  ME  DEARLY. 


SHE  SAYS  SHE  LOVES  ME  DEARLY. 


SHE  says  her  heart  is  in  her  kiss — 
She  says  she  loves  me  dearly ; 

Why  meet  I  not  her  tenderness 
As  fondly,  as  sincerely  ? 

Ah  !  once  I  trusted  all  I  met, 

With  warm  and  artless  truth  ; 
And  once  my  words  were  from  my  soul, 

But  that  was  in  my  youth. 

And  trust  betray'd,  and  vows  forgot, 
And  wrong  return'd  for  kindness, 

Have  chill'd  my  heart,  and  changed  my  lot, 
And  cured  my  blissful  blindness. 


THE  HERO'S  GRAVE.  251 

No  longer  tender,  guileless,  meek, 

Confiding  as  the  dove, 
Too  oft  I  think  before  I  speak, 

And  doubt  before  I  love  ! 


THE  HERO'S  GRAVE. 

A  GROUP  of  boys  in  playful  strife — 

A  soldier  old  and  faded, — 
The  fresh  and  glowing  morn  of  life, — 

The  eve  serenely  shaded. — 

"  Ah  !  play  not  there,  my  children  ! 

I  pray  you.  play  not  there  !" 
He  spoke  with  tears, — that  weary  one, — 

The  man  with  silver  hair. 

"  And  why  V  the  thoughtless  children  said,- 
"  The  grass  is  fresher  here, 


252  THE  HERO'S  GRAVE. 

We  love  upon  the  mound  to  tread, 
And  what  have  we  to  fear  V 

"  Nay,  come  away  !"  he  raised  his  voice, 
Wild  flash'd  his  faded  eyes, 

"  Ye  sport  upon  a  hallow'd  grave, 
For  there  a  hero  lies  /" 


THE    END. 


I  ma   BUVJIV   la   uuc   un    inc   LMai    UMIE 
STAMPED  BELOW 


RENEWED  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  IMMEDIATE 
RECALL 


387708 

|0sgood,  F.S. 
Poems . 


PS 2197 

Al 

18U6 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


